Let’s not make this a monotonous bio data of an obscure girl, some things are better to be coalesced.
I am a writer,if any identity is needed farther than that.My love for writing is the articulation of my inner voice that keeps trailing under my skin into the scarlet blood that runs in my veins.In writing I find a ‘amico’ ,like millions of people and the assistance of Literature has made it even more possible to let out the demons,we all have one masked under the facade of ‘normal lives’,but in the quietude of night the hush voices are metamorphosed.
Who says,that only phoenix can be born again from the ashes?
If the greatest writer didn’t mastered the act of hiding, would they be still masters?
The question remains open to your interpretation.
The human heart has hidden treasures, In secret kept, in silence sealed; The thoughts, the hopes, the dreams, the pleasures, Whose charms were broken if revealed.