My name is May, I'm eighteen, In my soul is the space of the wind. I look for inspiration and light in the sounds, Where music is the air and the word is the dawn. I brush against paper worlds, Where colors are like feelings, where every stroke is a call. There are stars in my eyes and dreams in my hands, I am a branch of spring in the midst of gray winter. I love the quiet and the evening sunset, Where thoughts float without obstacles. I read the pages like people's fates - In other people's phrases I find ideas. There's inspiration all around and a fire inside, My world is a dance, a breath, a hint. And even though I'm only eighteen now-- In my chest beats the story of centuries.