Quiet, is a default setting. It tends to be who I am. A silent shadow ;the dismissive friend.Overstimulation to all senses is greeted with silence. I  have never been able to talk out problems, I try to figure out  the maze that encompasses my  thoughts in a seemingly never ending  infinity loop, and eventually give in and  just let it go. My voice has never spoken out of passion, but my mind, has passionately contemplated every piece of my existence, and begs me to speak.Only to provoke a response that feels like a burning throat and a tug at my heartstrings. I cry when I’m frustrated, when I can’t properly express myself, when solace in  another human being can’t be found. T he sting of salt on my cheeks mirrors the sting in my heart. I learned how to write at an early age, to spit pure emotion and raw thoughts in black ink on a stark white page. As a child, I wrote to people more than I talked to them. My voice always failed me, written words never did. I learned about colors and lines, simple ideas  that made me feel as though the complexities of life made sense. I learned about how movement of the human body can move an  outlook on life; a movement that occasionally seems equal  to moving mountains. I learned how manipulation of light could restore my faith in beauty.                                                                                                                         I am an oxymoron, an empathetic human being that cannot properly express their own emotional tendencies ,let alone the weight of humanity’s .At least not in the traditionally acceptable ways.  Spoken words are few, but can be more  impactful when rare. Color can psychologically manipulative, and written words can be beautiful and artistic if given a proper chance.Storytelling doesn’t  have to rely on the wavering of a tongue, but rather the beating of a drum.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                            I still wish my voice was strong, that my ideas and thoughts could be fully communicated  by volume and tone. I wish that my articulation moved people to activism. However, there is no strength in wishing away what I have in exchange for something that will never be. It is what it is, and I am who I have always been, and that is okay.