Who am I?

Who am I? That is what everyone seeks to convey here. Sometimes I’ve wondered that question to myself. Never aloud, though, it is not a question to be spoken out for all to hear. Whispered, perhaps, to an empty room or abandoned field. Who am I? Am I a young lady of 17 who is struggling through school? Am I a friend so far away from my comrades? Am I a musician who sometimes loses herself in the melody the strings produce? Am I a student who would rather dream than learn? Am I an aspiring writer who sometimes find the edge between her life and her character’s blurred? Or something else entirely. . .Is my name Jennifer? Or is it Dreia? Do I live in Oregon, or is it only my body that lives there? Perhaps it is not a question of where I live, but where I belong. Where I long to be.In my mind I dream of a land away from the noise of vehicles, a forest where only the woodland creatures stir. Where the nearest house is reached by a couple hours good walking. Where the house that I live in is filled with books, paper, pens, and pencils. My mind sometimes flies there and finds it a much more peaceful place than here. DO I belong there?But then I long for a large place filled with bustling people, little shops, busy streets. A place I can be lost in and simply observe those around me. Perhaps sit in a little café and sip tea with my notebook and pencil in hand. Do I, perhaps, belong in London?Or maybe in between, a small town in the middle of forest where the people I love are only a short drive away. A place where I can come in and out of reality simply by where I choose to walk. A place like where I came from, my home town in Pennsylvania.Questions without answers. Answers without questions. I’m afraid I simply cannot share who I am with you, for, as you can see, I hardly know the answer myself.
Namárië,
~D. T. Faerie