Who am I?
It depends on who you ask.
To him? I'm a pompous bitch who talks too much.
To her? I'm obnoxiously bubbly, too loud, too ridiculous.
She sees me as a hero, a free spirit to aspire to be.
This guy barely sees me at all. I'm just a blur in his life, nothing really. Insignificant.
To him, I'm "perfect," all the things he looks for in a girl. Except he sees me just as little as the former really.
To her, I'm an embarrassment, essentially flawed, my name marked by mistakes.
He sees me as a sign of hope, a compassionate soul amidst a sea of selfishness.


But what am I really? Adjectives, mere words, do not suffice. I am neither meek nor bold, loving nor hateful, passionate nor apathetic. If I'm to be defined, let it not be with meaningless words, not based on biased perceptions. Too much would be missed. Define me using color, light, sound. That's where you'll discover my essence. It's in the silences between my speech, the color of my hair, the notes of my favorite songs. Hold my hand and in the space between us, there you can find a part. The invisible line that connects our eyes when they meet. Yes, there I am.
The crescendo of my laugh holds a piece of me, as does the decrescendo of my sigh. My essence, what I truly am, is not owned by words. I am. Let it be. Let me be.