Once upon a time, there was a forlorn girl. While the doldrums of daily life drowned her delight, she found solace in soothing spaces. This quixotic dreamer always rested her head within the clouds. And while in the nebula of notional mythical notions, this young girl loved to share her stories and science with the world.
Her lips seemed to work on its own accord when she inundated her lunch lady with string theory minutia that she picked up from her latest discovery channel marathon. Her love for lecture drove even her parents away; they retreated into their bedrooms and basements after her spiels spiraled out of control. Nosey neighbors met their match in her when they visited. Her fondness for fiction flew them out of our coup when she babbled about her bottomless brainstorming. Far away planets, deep ocean depths, times forgotten in ancient locations were all in a day’s dream for her.
While she often retreated into the shelter of secret stories, a dark time came. Reality could not be so easily banished outside her castle walls. Friends no longer appreciated her kooky concepts, and family expected her to abandon her crazy conceptions.
School was no longer a sanctuary for geekdom but now high school was just another name for high suffering. The awkward parameters of child and woman now trapped the girl.
The girl sadly learned that not everyone appreciated a vivid imagination or simple story. Her peers now all too eager to chain themselves to the prison of reality: dating, parities, and emotions that were all too mature for the world of teenagehood. She felt abandoned. She could no longer share her affinity for the abnormal.
While adolescence altered her adoration for articulation, her penchant for palaver did not die. It was only buried, slumbering shyly until its boisterous nature could escape the binds of her outer timidity.
And then the girl was a girl no longer, she was an adult. Or was she? She still remains a child on the inside despite her outer appearance. And deeper within, is an extrovert trapped in her introvert body.
Whimsical and stoic. Shy yet chatty. Comical but serious. All these dimensions assembled together, to create a quasi-sane damsel.
So as this woman-child, talkative recluse unlocks the buried secrets of her imagination and looks ahead to her outgoing future, she wishes to remind all don’t forget your childhood. Cherish every second of when you laid on your bed and dreamt of warlocks and witches and waypoints all too far to imagine.
Adulthood taught me how to speak. Childhood taught me how to dream.
