There is a girl. In a far away land where it rains and she dances barefoot in the wet grass. She is a small girl. With dark hair and glasses. She is a worried girl. Worried for those she loves, for her exams, for the animals and the world.

This girl. She owns a camera and loves it, but you can only photograph so many emotions, so she writes...occasionally.

She writes in an abstract fashion. The lines and loops formed by her pen are mysterious and confusing to the stop. She writes of fantasies, of magical romancing lovers and intertwined lives. She prefers not to write in the first person, and dislikes the sound of her own name. She could also use a beta for her rambling words but is daunted by the beta section as if it were an entirely different world.

She is openly cynical, about love, life and humanity. But she is a teenage girl and like any other; she holds secret hopes of her own classic fairytale. Because once, she believes, there was magic in this world and there can be magic here still, if we close our eyes.

She is in love with love and has a desire to make people like her. She pours out her feelings where they are not needed and sometimes, she does not show her feelings at all. Perhaps it seems as if she gives herself airs and graces she does not posses.

This girl, she wishes.