ABOUT ME

 

They say words are an impression of the hand that pens them down and the eyes always see what they choose to. Rather contradictory, don't you think?

This space, a consolation award to the writer, a desperate attempt to appeal to you about who I think I am, before you make up your own mind anyway.

The hand writes what it thinks, but is it really who I am? The eyes read what they want, but is it really who I am? So who am I ? So who am I?

Can you tell?