We can be different, you know. We do not have to stand behind society’s shoulder, figurative mascara staining our cheeks; cowering away from the world—we can be different. We can shine like a billion snowflakes on pavement, melting in the wind perhaps but immaculate all the same. We can stand up against the hurricane of second choices and broken opinions; we can diverge from the neon path of shattered hearts and clichés and we can go to sleep and let ourselves heal and sometimes we can decide that 24 hours is far too long to be conscious of our mistakes. We can be different. We do not have to write about wars or dragons or space we can write about the freckles on our palms, or the blue of a stranger’s eyes. We can skip all we want and we can breathe through our hearts; we can pull the lilies from our garden and water the weeds ‘til they bloom and we can watch Barney until we turn seventeen because it’s okay to be different. We are allowed to bury everything we have ever been told and learn things for ourselves because if “seeing is believing” then experiencing must be a gold star and a half—don’t tell me I’m wrong. We can be different. The only people who have ever said otherwise are hiding among us and the reason we have listened for so long is because we’re afraid that we are one of them. We are afraid to step out of the crowd of painted souls and rummage in the future for a color of our own. And we don’t understand that if the brushes are all taken, and the watercolors of individuality are dried up or used we can mix our own or use our fingers or stain our reality with melted crayons—it doesn’t really matter. Because it’s okay to be different. And every time we cut off our own voices, or burn our love letters we are encouraging the wind to whisk away the snowflakes plastered to the pavement, crushed under feet of people determined to be the same.  -Me