I am not me. I am not original.
I am a mixture of a lot of things.
I am like the gentle breeze.
Like the tranquilityand suspense of the calm ocean.
Like the orange-red colour of a hot iron rod.
Like the freshness of the first drizzle of the August month.
Like a small toddler with gleaming eyes who says, " I will be a writer one day".
Like someone who believes that " The pen is mightier than the sword".