There are these times when I feel powerful beyond belief, like I’m capable of anything. I feel like this thing inside my chest soars and keeps me warm so if it came down to it, I would stay heated in the winter. I feel like I can accomplish anything. I can fall in love over and over again with books. I can sing laugh fly because I can write and because I can read.
And when I look at other people, the people in my classes at school who I think spend more time worrying about their hair than their character, I wonder if they have something like what I have. It doesn’t seem like they do, but I’m sure it doesn’t seem like I do either, especially not to my family. They know I read a lot, but they don’t I write as much as I do.
But still, those people I deem vapid probably do have something like that. Maybe they live for romance, for falling into a guy’s arms and hearts. Maybe the girl with a lot of friends and a lot of enemies isn’t what many people say are a slut; maybe she is in search of love.
And so I can’t help but think that I an my group of friends, being nerds, ride off other people’s dreams as unimportant. I sometimes say that all some boys care about are sports, but all they care about are sports. Is that less than the passion I have for words?
It can’t be. And so again I can’t help but think that in one way or another, the world really is fair.