I see my life as a book; a dichotomy of a dissatisfying childhood and interrupted adolescence. The final chapter is neither near or far in sight, but I find as I turn the pages, I'm still looking for the answer.
There is a plethora of recurring motifs of emptiness, broken hearts, passion, bitterness, excitement, tears of loneliness, tears of sadness, tears of happiness (tears for the sake of tears?)
I enjoy pretending to be something I am not.
mischa's Genres: gothic, abstract, realist, autobiographical, critical
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