He’s Not Me
He’s not me.
I have to keep reminding myself this.
I was reading by age five. I spent third grade staring out the window because the work was too easy for me. By fourth grade I was writing stories and packing my own lunch bag and making breakfast for my dad every morning. When I was younger than Ryan I was performing in musicals and the audience could understand the words I spoke and sang.
I was not the child that Ryan is.
And I can’t expect him to be the child I was.
And it’s not fair for me to expect him to be anyone else. But this doesn’t stop me from making silly comparisons.
But that’s unfair to him.
Because he’s not me.
And I have to meet him where he is.
Because I love who he is.