OurFadingEchoes

Hi, my name is Chiara.



When I was a kid, I used to love writing.  I would jot new ideas in my little polka dot notepad,  always sketching up new worlds, plotting new stories escalating my imagination to new heights.



That was over five years ago, and I hadn't written a page since.  So, I should warn you, what you are going to see on this page, is going to be absolute and utter garbage.  The writing of an thirteen year old meshed awkwardly with the utterly confused inspirations  of an adult, all awash with stories I have only kept in my head under lock and key.  



I once knew of an artist, who,  in a state of madness, hurled cans of paint at her walls.  She poured her emotions out into her vibrant paints to fling onto that drywall, hoping something out of her head would finally be put to light.  In the end, the drywall told a story more than she could ever bargain for.



This is my drywall.

Let's see what sticks, shall we?