With my hair pulled back in a loosely knotted tie, with my wisps of hair being convinced to fly away from my head, I am six years old. There’s nothing hindering me and my sun-warmed skin. I exist as I did in 1989, carefree, clumsy, and silently taking in the world. Amused with myself and the nature of others; how we are obviously the same, but blatantly different. It is in the this windswept confidence that I see myself for who I really am: reserved, honest, peaceful, and the slightest bit off center from those around me. Today it merely makes me more of my own. It is in this windy sunshine that I make sense; the sun warms me and the wind fulfills me. My life can be counted in summers spent fighting and, eventually, embracing those wisps of blonde hair being coerced by windy sunshine. 

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