Who am I?

I don't know, it's too hard to tell. For I am an agglomerate of traits, lessons, experiences. What composes the symphony of me is entangled deep in my past, in my friends, in my experiences.

If ever I tried to return the parts of me, I know where to start but I would never know how to finish.. A few parts I know, I have my grandfather unbreakable will, my uncle never ending determination, and the softness of my mother's heart.

The rest I glued together, piece by piece, taking a bit from here and a bit from there.

I don't truly know me, and I think I will never fully understand me. Step by step I uncover those footprints and at the same time realize I left new ones behind as I move forward.

I realized a lot over this almost 30 years, my passion for displays of geniality, my craving for emotions, my affair with loneliness. I found some basics, some hobbies, some notes on how to describe me.

My passion for words, that craving of having something to say but feeling like I lack the skill to say it. My constant typing on this virtual paper, my eternal struggle with the torrent of emotions buried inside. I want to create and compose, I want to compile with unequal mastery the holy grail of written text, the combination of letters that follow each other slowly unravelling their meaning as they expand.

I want, I lust, I crave, for your eyes, for the moment when my careful threaded thread of little black images carefully weaved in that white background. When it's power invades you, steals your breath, makes your eyes water and your heart race.

But despite all of this, I still don't know.

Who I am, how to love...

All that's left is this blank page staring back at me. Calmly waiting for my feelings to bottle up, for my emotions to boil inside, until it becomes unavoidable for them to spill.into it again.