They tell me a lot of things. They tell me how I had wings in my shoes, that I was a quitter, as if it was the right thing to stay put when every cell in your body tells you to leave. They said I left things and places faster than most people, as if that was somehow a problem. To me, it was a simple decision, and I made decisions quickly. It suffocated me—sitting in places I did not want to sit in, living a life I did not want to live anymore. It killed me slowly. Perhaps, it killed all of us, and I was the only one willing to admit it. I was the only one with the winged shoes, after all. At least, I could try to run. It was better than being stuck in one place all my life.
They tell me I fall in love quickly, as if it were a flaw, as if I was the one who did not understand what it was about. To me, loving someone was a simple decision, and I made decisions quickly. I did not have it in me to wait around for inspiration or dire circumstances; once I knew what I had to do and all I needed to know, I jumped. It was the only way I knew how to live. It was the only way to fall in love—by immediate choice. The error was in waiting too long, being too slow. Most love was lost in waiting. People had a tendency to wait around for everything, even answers.
They tell me I was too particular, as if there was any other way to live besides knowing what we wanted, or trying to act like we did anyway. Surety, even in pretence, was the only way to kill doubt. You could not become more certain by acting unsure. It was a fallacy. It was also a trick. To be more sure about something, you had to risk being wrong. And me, I was the most uncertain of all people I had ever met. I had to be sure: about my favourite breakfast, about the music I enjoyed, about who I loved, about what I wanted, about everything. It was the only way to check if I was wrong. How else would you know?
They tell me a lot of things. Often, I have nothing to tell them in return, as if my explanation would change a single thing about what they had to say and as if their acceptance would make a difference in how I carried myself every day. We were doomed to live how we lived, for better or worse.