The Summer of Impossible Things

by Rowan Coleman

Time is just a river, one of my professors told me once, flowing everywhere, everything happening all at once. You only see it as linear because humans are linear; you’re born, you live and you die, in a straight and ordered line.

From my blue eyes to my sense of isolation in the midst of a family I adore, that comes from him too and I can’t regret that. I can’t hate that, because that’s me. I’m not perfect, not at all, but I am me.

‘Because, unlike you, I believe. In God and fairy tales and unicorns, and I believe that at the end of all of this there will still be you.’

I’m not allowed perfect happiness, that was never meant for me.