"I am not a graceful person. I am not a Sunday morning or Friday sunset. I am a Tuesday 2am, I am gunshots muffled by a few city blocks, I am a broken window during February. My bones crack on a nightly basis. I fall from elegance with a dull thud, and I apologize for my awkward sadness. I sometimes believe that I don’t belong around people, that I belong to all the leap days that didn’t happen. The way the light and darkness mix under my skin has become a storm. You don’t see the lig" Wanderer, mystic, misfit, nonconformist, poet, lover of words, artist. Madwoman. A burning mesh of contradictions. A fauvist. An independent journalist based in India.