My name is Lena and I am twenty years old. When I smile, I shut my left eye. I love fog, but only over greenery and I’m not very fond of tea. Birds chirp all night long where I live and I haven’t seen a proper field of stars since the last time I went home. I have touched feet on the soil of every continent except for Antarctica and I’ve swum in every ocean except the Arctic because I hate the cold. When I see lightning, my spine shudders. I can see music and write in colors, but I’m not very good at either. I spin dreams like silk and shatter them like glass, and I’m floating down a river named emotion. I become delirious to the point of hallucinating late in the afternoon if I don’t sleep the night before and I have an odd fascination with skin. I can’t sleep with the lights on, but I can’t sleep with them off, so my room is covered in glow-in-the-dark nonsense. Only rabbits should eat salads and I love the wind atop of mountains where it is pure. Every summer, I wake to an Indian sunrise and in the winter, I sleep under an Atlantic moon. I’m a Leo.