"They think I'm strange," she lamented. The mother smiled. She had heard the same about herself. "You're not strange, child. You are different," she explained. The girl thought silently before asking, "Is being different good?" She answered the question herself; "I am happy and that's all that matters, right Mom?"
She didn't like dolls or Barbies. They weren't as cool as those remote control cars that her brother had. So she asked her parents for one. They gave her a bright pink car. She hated it. The next day her parents found her playing with her brother's blue one instead. Plus, he seemed happy with… Continue reading Pink and Blue
They touched. They stood by each other. Words brought them closer even with different genres. They knew that their home was temporary. An interesting looking species would come and tenderly run fingers over them. And then they were adopted. "Where did they go?" The waiting books wondered.
Misery was desire. Hope was the creator of hopelessness. "Take it one day at a time," she trained herself. But sometimes too much happened in a day. And then there were the times when too little happened. "I guess it's about taking in every moment," she concluded.
She felt more than others. It got her into trouble most of the time. She thought about saving the world. Feeling helpless wasn't her thing. Sleepless nights were normal. When they told her to narrow her focus, she knew she was in the wrong place.