This is me, Rachael. I would die from a papercut and blame it on the finger. I would argue with an eraser if the words didn't look right. I would tell the moon to shine all day just to ******* the sun. I see colours in my imagination; my dreams are wild and beyond comparison. I tend to love too hard and quickly get burnt by the one I flew so high for. I read too much and believe in past lives. I forgive but don't forget. My trust is willing but protects my heart like a guardian of fate. I will be silent when someone talks ****, because I don't take fools gladly, and a wise man never responds to defecation of verbal ignorance. I willingly argue my point in my head til you know I have analysed my response. Nothing is taken lightly. I would argue that the road is really hard and quite weary, and curse my boots as they hit the hallowed ground. I am impetuous, I rush in, I seek thrill and danger. Hedonism is my game; I play deftly with an air of mastery. I am sensitive. As skin is to the weather. A gust of harsh wind could ******* away. This is me; only a slight composition of who I am, and what I am made of. And I make no apology.