in me es, in me estis

<!–When you were young, your father filled your head with stories of wild beasts rarely seen and never proven to exist. He took you on trips to find those creatures, and although you never saw anything extraordinary, you were sure they were close. You could sense them, just beyond the frame of your vision, and that was enough.

Neighbors teased your father and your mother yelled at him and ignored him and finally left him one day while he pored over the tabloids. After that, other kids weren’t allowed to play at your house anymore. You didn’t have many friends, but you had your father and he had you. And that was enough.

When you got a little older, you went to school. Classes were interesting, but they only dealt in thing that were, not things that might or could be. The laughed at you when you asked why the animals your father had described weren’t in the textbooks. You knew they existed, though, and that was enough.

The other kids called you “weirdo” and “freak” and stole your books. Your teachers looked at you strangely when you asked questions about things they didn’t believe in. You stopped talking about things that didn’t exist, and you stopped wondering what lay just beyond your comprehension. Life was less interesting, but you had friends and that was enough.

When your father died, you found a letter that saying he would find you and together, you could both see all of the things no one else ever believed in. But months passed and you put the letter in the bottom drawer and you stopped staying awake at night, waiting for his ghost. You miss him, but you can sleep again. Somehow, that is enough.

Now you are grown up and you don’t think about magical creatures or superpowers anymore. When something moves in the corner of you eye, you don’t turn to catch a glimpse of the elusive imaginary creatures, and when your daughter insists that there is a fantastic world just beyond her senses, you tell her to stop pretending and to set the table. You tell yourself that no one will ever call her a freak and teachers will smile when she raises her hand and she will be normal.

And that will be enough.–>

I’m not going to tell anyone where I got the idea for this because it’s embarrassing.

When you were young, your father filled your head with stories of wild beasts rarely seen and never proven to exist. He took you on trips to find those creatures, and although you never saw anything extraordinary, you were sure they were close. You could sense them, just beyond the frame of your vision, and that was enough.

Neighbors teased your father, and your mother yelled at him and ignored him and finally left him one day while he pored over the tabloids. After that, other kids weren’t allowed to play at your house anymore. You didn’t have many friends, but you had your father and he had you. And that was enough.

When you got a little older, you went to school. Classes were interesting, but they only dealt in thing that were, not things that might or could be. The laughed at you when you asked why the animals your father had described weren’t in the textbooks. You knew they existed, though, and that was enough.

The other kids called you “weirdo” and “freak” and stole your books. Your teachers looked at you strangely when you asked questions about things they didn’t believe in. You stopped talking about things that didn’t exist, and you stopped wondering what lay just beyond your comprehension. Life was less interesting, but you had friends and that was enough.

When your father died, you found a letter that saying he would find you and together, you could both see all of the things no one else ever believed in. But months passed and you put the letter in the bottom drawer and you stopped staying awake at night, waiting for his ghost. You miss him, but you can sleep again. Somehow, that is enough.

Now you are grown up and you don’t think about magical creatures or superpowers anymore. When something moves in the corner of you eye, you don’t turn to catch a glimpse of the elusive imaginary creatures, and when your daughter insists that there is a fantastic world just beyond her senses, you tell her to stop pretending and to set the table. You tell yourself that no one will ever call her a freak and teachers will smile when she raises her hand and she will be normal.

And that will be enough.