WeepingAngel:<3
DudeWheresMyTardis:Don’t you ever just wish you were normal?
WeepingAngel:Of course I do. But I don’t have that option so I don’t dwell on it. It’s a waste of energy that I need to put toward more important things.
That’s the thing I love about Angel: she doesn’t mince words; she doesn’t wallow. Whatever her day to day is like, she has never been self-pitying. She accepts who she is and lives her life. I want to be like that.
I can see she’s still typing … and typing … Every once in a while she gets chatty and it’s always gold.
WeepingAngel:The thing I’m understanding as I get older is that there is no normal. There are people who choose to live their lives by staying in their lanes. And there’s nothing wrong with that. That’s needed. But there are also people who know they aren’t like everyone else. That they were made for something more. Then there’s people who don’t have a choice. They are “thrust into greatness” and they decide what choice to make.
I wondered how she saw me?
DudeWheresMyTardis:I don’t think I’m one of those people. I’ve only ever wanted a normal life.
WeepingAngel:There’s nothing wrong with that.
Still. I get the sense that I’ve disappointed her. I get a little twinge of anxiety that I have screwed up something in one of the only lasting relationships in my life. I chew on my lip deciding what to say. After a lifetime of wanting to change who I am, it’s hard not to still long for that. Despite what Nathaniel thinks, I still just want to be free of this curse.
I watch her continue to type and think about her words.
WeepingAngel:Anybody can make a difference. There needs to be people who decide that they will be the light that leads those in the dark. Why be ordinary when you can be extraordinary? The world needs exceptional people. Why not be one?
I read what she’s written two times and feel an ache in my chest. Sometimes I swear she’s in my head. Maybe I’m projecting, but she has an uncanny ability to say just what I need to hear.
WeepingAngel:Sometimes I think if I had half the health that “normal” people have, I could make a difference. Some people are like that. They want to leave the world just a little better than how they found it. Think of the biggest, most memorable figures in history. They were just normal people who decided to go after something.
DudeWheresMyTardis:You make my world better <3
Her proclamation gives me that same nagging guilt that Nathaniel’s admiration does but for different reasons. Was I wasting my potential by fighting it back? But what good had it done? I hope and I fight every day … but what if I’m actually fighting against what I’m meant to be? Against my true potential?
My body aches from sitting up too long.
WeepingAngel:Same, girl. Love has a power like nothing else. It shines when there is only darkness.
Inexplicably, chills spread across my skin at those words. Angel can be so soulful in the most random moments. Go from teasing to profound in a flash.
DudeWheresMyTardis:I just want to be happy.
WeepingAngel:Then decide what will bring you happiness and go after it.
DudeWheresMyTardis:You’re right. It’s time I make the most of my life. On that note, I’m going to bed.
WeepingAngel:Ha ha! Atta girl.
DudeWheresMyTardis:Feel better.
WeepingAngel:I will. I always do.
Seriously, I love this woman.
I barely manage to change into pajamas and hobble from door to light, locking and turning things off. I would love to be a person who changes the world, but when I feel like this I’m too lost in my pain to hope for anything more than just normality.
Still, her words replay in my head as I shuffle to my room. Why be ordinary …
I don’t remember anything after falling face first into bed. I wake up with a gasp. My room is filled with light.
“Not again,” I groan but when I look down at my hands, they’re normal.
I blink around the room and realize the light is of the natural variety. That is to say, it’s sunny.
“What time is it?” I glare at my clock only to realize it’s almost noon on Saturday …? I guess?
There’s a knock at my front door. Adrenaline shoots me into action. I bolt up and reach for my robe. I’m half-asleep and moving on autopilot.
Nobody visits me. Nobody even knows where I live. I shuffle to the door not totally awake.
I rub my eyes and pull open the door.
It’s a man. There is a man on my front porch.
