As a child, every minute was pure magic. I saw all things bathed in a golden wash of stars. Curtains weren't curtains; they were sails on ships! Aisles of clothes weren't just aisles of clothes; they were offices for editors-in-chief at fashion houses in NYC! My aunt wasn't just my aunt; she was definitely a divine, radiating angel from a marble castle on another planet! Everything in front of my eyes passed through me and became something else: something painted in golden stars.

People around me saw this, and unto today, they still tell me about how they experienced me in their lives as children. But most people were there for the stars that rolled over me and gathered at my feet. I'm not sure who was there for actually me and not just for my magic. As a result, I bonded more closely with animals than with people. I was sure that animals were there for actually me.

For the longest time, I think I despised most people for their penchant of taking. For taking the best, shiniest bits and pieces of my spirit. And I felt that I had many gifts, coupled with the burning desire to share them with others. But people don't stop to say, "thank you", you know? They don't. And they don't stay.

But it was a magical childhood, it really was. I wrote plays and acted in them. I climbed up on rooftops and picked fruit from the tops of churches! I fell through rotten rooves and napped on branches. I carried stars inside of me and then I let them shoot out!

Oh, most of the people around me were selfish bimbos. But in the long run it didn't matter because I breathed the air of my own spirit, I didn't breathe the same air as them. I thought that I ached because I wanted love in exchange for magic; but now I know, that I ached because I didn't know I had all the tools for me to love my own self! I wanted to give my gifts, be a gift for others, when I didn't know that my real mission was being the gift to myself.