This is me. I still want to be silly sometimes. I love to explore. I like to look at the glass as half-full. Hell, I will happily make lemonade. I’ve worked too hard in recent years at accepting and loving myself to let one random, grumpy guy in an airport make me second-guess who I am— My thoughts come to a screeching halt. Because I hear it. And I feel it. Heavy footfalls. The change in the air around me—it’s warm, and it hums as he pulls closer. I let out a loud, unladylike guffaw when I hear his breathing behind me. “Sorry, this must be hard for someone your age,” I call back. And for the
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