Khristian Burkhart

I am one who dances with closed eyes, thin lips, and an open mind. I am one who deems the rugged crisp tone of the German tongue seductive. I am one who was born where she stands, but dreams to make the world her birthplace. I am one who accompanies herself with that of warmer and darker hues. I am one who prefers the sight of wood beneath her feet when she enters a room. I am one who enjoys the privileges of winter and its demand for warmth. I am one who resides in the pessimistic aspects of life; blind to the “silver lining.” I am one who finds white walls to resemble hospitals and insane asylums. I am one who can sit in a cafe with a book and waist hours never shifting my weight. I am one who writes in tongues of suspicion and mystery. I am one who holds her beliefs close rather than exposed and shared. I am one who acts in passion of devotion and apprehension. I am one who delights in the lustrous texture of chocolate between my lips. I am one who attempts at perfection, never content with anything less. I am one who can walk bare foot among the forest floor with ease. I am one who respects the silence in the late nights and early mornings. I am one who invariably reaches for her future, years before it has been decided. I am one who doubts her own worth not once nor twice, but thrice. And I am one who returns to her strength for the will to continue. I am incomplete, only eighteen years have been laid behind me. I am nothing more than a mere human passing through time by that of memories. The truth about this soul in which speaks to you now: no one knows it but me.