It was her, and she was different. It took her a lifetime to realize that being different wasn’t a crime. Being different was a gift and It meant that your soul was painted with the colors nobody had ever dreamed of and that was very rare but what troubled her was that nobody appreciated her, embraced her or kissed her once. Sometimes, she would want to hide or run away. Somewhere safe, somewhere soothing. Sometimes, she would doubt herself, her talents, her body, her soul, her curves, thoughts and oh what not. In class, she would be sitting at the back unnoticed and abandoned. She would have a notebook with her where she would often doodle or scribble those monsters hiding inside her, just so she could let them out, set the fire blazing inside her free. She didn’t mind. She had company. The company of books, She wasn’t alone she would sleep at night clutching a book and wakeup to a warm cup of coffee. She would smile so that nobody would see her cry, see those scars conquering her body but she had to be strong. She will get past this and she knew it.