I was born a barefoot child.
Ready for adventure.
Ready to climb the highest tree without anyone around because the view was for me and me alone.
I was born to hate smiling until it was coaxed out of me by realizing it made others happy.
I was born a hater of milk: the smell, the taste, the way it’s milky white and cold or worse, warm.
I was born to be independent, wanting what I want and not caring if others thought it wasn’t up to their standards.
I was born with a love of running as fast as my legs would take me.
And born with a shyness that led to keeping my passions secrets lest someone misunderstand them.
I was born to think flowers were fascinating, the way the petals felt like velvet and the pollen fell off like colored dust.
I was born to love…
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