Leaves and Feathers

Sometimes I wish being a boy were more. . .dramatic maybe? Liberating? The reality is that even though the boy Charlie is happier, calmer, better adjusted, there has been no revolution. Change in life happens slowly, and yet. . .there has been no shocking revelation. Except maybe now I can grow up. Even though I was never suicidal, I was pretty convinced I'd never hit twenty. Mid-college seemed about the right place to just stop. Going to France staved that off pretty well, but since I killed off my boy-self when I came back, I lost a lot of what made me real. I think maybe I'm ready to be real again?