I felt 6 inches tall before I could stand 5 feet 2 inches. I used to think I was a coward more than I ever thought of myself as a victim. In my mind, being a victim meant I couldn’t handle my problems. I didn’t want to accept that I wasn’t capable of fixing them. I wanted to be tough. I wanted to be solid.
I was a firm believer of the “match-made-in-heaven” theory. After watching a cornucopia of fairy-tale inspired movies, I’ve rejected that theory. You aren’t magically bestowed with a Babylon candle that will suddenly take you to the ruins of a fallen star. You can’t just randomly fall in love with that star and end up getting married.
Hyde Park, London, is alive tonight. The stars are out and a breeze rustles through the trees. Couples sit on benches holding hands, friends stroll around in groups chatting about the latest gossip, strangers meet underneath gas lamps to flirt, and a fox and a young Victorian woman clad in black lipstick play a friendly game of chess. Wait — a furry fox and a 19th century woman playing chess?
