I was born in the middle of a snow storm, that’s where my father said I got my wild spirt, though it’s probably more likely I got it from my mother. She was a ‘wild child’ and my father, well, my father was a dreamer. I wish I could say that I inherited their traits 50/50, but the fact I sometimes get lost in my head for days pretty much says it all.
I was 8 or 9 when I learned my bones really weren't meant for flying. I cracked my head open and some of my dreams flew away, and doubt got sucked in through the vacuum. Stories of adventure slowly began to replace my actual ones and my best friends became wizards, hobbits, and lions.
It wasn’t until I was 15 that I realised ‘Hermione’ wasn’t meant to be a compliment. I had long given up on my frizzy hair, it distracted from the glasses and acne. Though I suppose the books I hid my nose in did that too.
I was 16 when I learned to hide the hurricanes behind my eyes for fear of being called a storm chaser
I was 17 when I learned that little spinning silver discs, if played right, also worked as band aids for the soul
It wasn’t until I was 18 that I learned that being different wasn’t always a bad thing. And that all the people I looked up too were all a little weird too
And now I’m still a little scared of the ‘real world’ but at least it really is starting to get better