Who Are You?

Who are you? A question like that can bring up emotions, thoughts, memories, or nothing at all. Who are you? An introspective look at one as a being. There’s no need for words, no need for anything. Who are you? Truly, a gesture could be the sole thing used, showing a physical form, a tangible¬†you.

Who am I?

I am a woman brought up on pancakes and rain. Someone who sees the trees, not the forest. I am a human sculpted from words and clay, words that slowly erode at the creases in the palms of my hands. I am a brick wall, mortar being added to attach pieces of stone, making me stronger.

I am one of blue eyes, pale skin, sweatshirts, and sneakers. I am one of pine trees and campfire smoke, of constellations and dust. I am one of clouds and many words, of exclamation points and italics. I am I.

Hello, my name is Danny.

And I am me.


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