# About Myself I am the one who walks alone, carrying secrets in my pockets like smooth stones. I am the silence between words, the pause before a confession, the breath held underwater. I am made of contradictions— fire and frost, laughter and ache, a map with no destination marked. I am the question nobody asks, the answer someone forgot to listen for, dust motes dancing in afternoon light. I am tender where I should be hard, stubborn where surrender might serve me better, caught between who I was and who I'm becoming. I am the one who remembers too much, forgets what matters, builds castles from the wreckage of yesterday. I am the watcher at the window, the dreamer who wakes too early, the voice that speaks in whispers. I am small and vast, broken and whole, here and always elsewhere. I am the story I tell myself when the world grows too loud, the song only I can hear.