Life was cruel in so many little ways. I'd wanted to play the flute like my friends had done. But I'd never got the chance. We'd never had money for instruments or lessons. Art had been cheaper - something my parents could afford to give me - and it had allowed me to express and hone and free my creative side and, somehow, land a career even if it was ludicrously far from where I'd thought I'd end up.
But part of me was still the scrawny, broken-hearted girl pining at the window, staring in through the glass during breaks between lessons while other, luckier children got to touch real instruments and, eventually, play them. I lacked the language, lacked the understanding, lacked even the most rudimentary knowledge. Was probably too thick to get it, anyway... the one teacher who'd tried ha
