She spent her childhood swallowing words.
At first they thought she was mute, sending her to speech therapists and doctors, leaving each appointment with a shrugged shoulder prescription of “just give her time.”
They knew she was bright, watching her tear through book after book, each too advanced for her age, the tomes heavy in her small hands.
What they didn’t realise was that she needed words like she needed air to breathe. She stored them inside herself and used them as fuel in a world that was shrinking into colloquialisms and slang.
She was protecting words for the future.
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