Of my most innocent days, of admiring colors in the wings of a butterfly, and days of staring blankly at the rain or tucking myself in bed only to feel cozy in the warmth I am in, emphasized by the cold, I had once wished for Harry Potter’s cloak too. I was certain I wanted to make myself disappear.
And then one day my little heart understood why comics were labeled ‘Marvel’. These didn’t contain fairytales but you would marvel by the idea, your imagination would thrive in the stories, devouring every ounce of fiction. I once dreamt of getting superpowers too.
I now come at the age where I stare at my old self, because my comic spent childhood is like a dream I woke up from. And now X-men to me means irrelevant. X-men. I don’t need special abilities. I grew up typical, and yes my imaginations and dreams thrived in books. I did go through a phase where I can be labeled a bookworm. And again I tell you, I am at this age now. And writers don’t need to bring me fiction. Because one day I met her, she is so beautiful and so perfect in her imperfections, and here I am, a typical.
One day I met her and woke up from my entire childhood. Harry Potter’s cloak, Marvel’s special powers, X-men abilities, fiction, see she proved to me that I did not need those things to be invisible.