She never knew who she was. She knew what she wanted to be though; she wanted to be free and be herself without judgment. At the time she was just finding herself, she would dress in her hippie pants, boho jacket and a headband with a loose messy bun, she always had her pencils and notebook just in case she felt inspired to draw. Drawing wasn’t her talent, but she wasn’t terrible at it. Every so often she would feel a huge urge to get an image on paper and it always turned out perfect, her pictures consisted of men, women and children, except the portraits of people never had faces, they had no identity, they didn’t need one; they seemed happy though, so why couldn’t she be happy too?