What lies a head is not yet written. I will fill the pages on this book with my own hand. Nothing will decide my fate. The world will not mold me, it will not turn me to its own image, it will not guide my hand. For this, it is my story, it will be truth, weather a tragedy may occur or it happens so i cant show my face in public out of fear or ridicule. My hand its guided by my own will.
         My behavior will affect everything around me. The smallest things affect the way i am perceived. The pronunciation of my verry words are perceived, judge and become who i am. If not for me than who would i be? As irrational as my words may seem, it makes sense to me, it becomes my rationality. My way of thinking its unique. My view of the world its my own, what i decide its important. My opinion of beauty, what is trully precious in this world can onley be seeing by my eyes.
          In an endless universe. My possibilities become boundless. I have the freedom to do as i please. To become who i am i must always walk foward. A straight line i must follow, to regress would be a waist of my time for historry tends to repeat it self. In an ocean of possibilities the world makes its own rules and limits what i can become or acheive. Still my hand guides this pen across this pages not yet written.