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“Did you know the clover plant is a member of the pea family?” “No, I didn’t.” It’s true. My knowledge of the plant only goes so far. She gets this adorable look on her face that says she can’t fathom the idea of me not knowing that.
She’s giving me pieces of herself and I’m starving for more.
I smile when she ducks her head in embarrassment. Fuck, adorable. I’m so fucked.
“Because of my disability, I will miss subtle clues. You will need to explain things directly to me.” I hear her. I look only at her. “Whatever you need, Mila,” I tell her, unbothered. She nods. “Thank you.” she smiles, then says. “I like it. Butterfly. Sweetheart, too.” she clarifies.
my disability does not define me. It’s called Asperger’s Syndrome or autism spectrum disorder, and it is a part of me, yes, but it’s not everything. I’m more than a disability.” She is. She’s kind when she’s known only harshness and cruelty. She is brilliant and talented as fuck. I don’t see her differently, and I never will. I never have.
Mila is sheltered and kindhearted. She sees light in the darkness. Goodness in the hopeless.
Mila Areya Parisi feels like home. She is home.
With each step I take, I feel the invisible chains my father placed on me break free. I feel them breaking, and suddenly I am able to breathe without feeling like I’m fighting for my next breath. This is it. I am actually here. This is my first time outside of the country and the first time I am so far from home. Far from all I know and love, my sisters.
“You only get one life, Mila Parisi. Do you want to waste it away wondering what it feels like to truly live and not just exist, or do you want to come with me and see for yourself how beautiful and freeing it could be?” His words wash over me, reminding me of my reality.
Living and not just existing…
How can a five-foot-one girl turn me into a sap without me even realizing it.