once upon a time there was a girl. she was just a regular, ordinary girl—the kind you see at the supermarket or at the bank. there was nothing remotely comely about her outward appearance, in fact, you might say she looked at times, ‘unkept’ and that would be putting it kindly. but if you were to get a peek at her insides, well, then you’d be witness to something extraordinary.
because inside her plain wrapping were worlds upon worlds, full of poetry that she memorized and would whisper to herself during the mundane tasks of the day. inside her folds were colors awash with fantastical beasts and favorite characters from beloved books, and no one but no one knew they kept her company and that is why she never felt alone and indeed, sought out pockets of time to steal away from the world. there were line drawings, and doodles, images of chagall and words (always words) she’d read by van gogh and rilke that floated around in the depths.
and sometimes this girl would feel so lost, an alien, in the everyday world of dishes and laundry and the day job. she would feel that no one really, truly understood her or would understand the pull she felt every waking moment of every day of her life, towards a life so different than the one she was living. not that she blamed anyone—her inner life was sacred ground and very few were fully invited in, and fewer still embraced the worlds that she built...most found her “too much”. too much of a dreamer, much too much to feeling and complicated. much of the time, she barely understood how she had come to live this life, even though she herself had built it, one brick, one choice at a time, all she knew now was that she wanted out of this cardboard-pre-fabricated-one-size-fits-all-life. and then it dawned on her—since she was the architect of her own life, couldn't she also break down and rebuild a new life for herself, one that would hold the beautiful worlds she created inside of her?