To say that I am your regular teenager would be a near delusional thought. While most girls dream of guys or who they might one day fall in love with, I dream of stories. Of words falling onto pages at my very touch.

Are our lives nothing more than words on paper?
Who is to say they are everything unlike fiction? For, when it is all striped back, we are the same as the books we read; we live, we breath, we laugh, we grieve, but everything we do can be twisted in the rolling sea of interpretation. Yet there is a way for us to learn of those other than ourselves, losing all we knew into the art of words. 
And, surely, there is no greater magic than what lies in our minds, converting lines and words, and conforming them into whole lives we become attached in.