People will always think they know what and who you are.

No matter what one does, what one says, what one is, they will slam a gavel in their mind and declare their verdict, weighing you down with the handcuffs they’ve now so rudely locked on your wrists.

This man is a no-good deadbeat.

This woman is a snob.

This boy can do no wrong.

This girl’s a whore.

It can’t be helped, I suppose. There are scholars out there who I’m sure can explain this a thousand times better than I could dream of, but we label things to understand them, to know how they fit in the universe.

Even this story fell victim to that, no doubt.

From the very moment I decided to speak about my life, assumptions were made. This is the story about a prostitute. This is a story about a mage arriving in a foreign town. This is the story of two women who met at a train station.

None of these assumptions are right, and none of these assumptions are wrong, either.

They just are.

I think that’s what drew me to Twilight Sparkle, the fact that she is never satisfied with first impressions, that she tries to see beyond what so many others stop at.

The fact that she knew nothing about me. For the first time in what felt forever, I’d found an interesting person in this miserable city that had no idea who I was.

In her eyes, I could be whatever I wanted to be.

One of my favorite quotes in this dreary world comes from a terribly sappy romance novel I read as a child.

No one cares who I really am so I thought of being God.

Twilight Sparkle cared about who I really was, so I thought of being someone far grander than the God in the sky.

Myself.

honestly in this day and age managing to be yourself is a total power move

A small vignette based on the below gorgeous artwork from one of my dearest friends in this whole wide world with whom I talk about incredibly deep subjects such as whether IQ really matters or not, about whether people should be held accountable for the messages they portray, and whether Siri's jokes are actually good or not