I know only this, I am a writer, a poet, a welder of words; a melancholic, lonely girl with a broken mind and a too often broken heart, a dreamer hopeful for love and fearful of confinement, too strong for pity, too self- loathing for pride; a soul who spends so much time in the shadows she forgets the light; residing half her life on the Page, she has practically mastered the ancient art of losing oneself. But the intention never was to lose herself, I only wanted to escape it. I am a writer, a poet, a welder of words and I know not who I am.