An emotional rollercoaster set in motion every day by everything that surrounds me but mostly is music and literature that make me wake up and realise I’m still alive and kicking. I write and sing, yet I don’t consider myself a writer nor a singer. I’m somewhere between a being and a shadow of what I myself am. Beginnig a journey every time I fail, I’d like to finish something someday. Because not even this sentence is wholly finished, a word could be introduced, a melody could’ve been composed and set as background to a moment that will never end.
Most of my poems are supposed to be songs, but I have no idea about writing music, it’s in my head though.
I’m a russian woman from Spain, but I mostly write and read in English.