I grew up reading the books most teenagers wouldn’t appreciate, let alone understand for the value that they held. Books that knew me. I came to know them also, and would continually call upon them for reassurance throughout my life. To a certain level, they defined me. I helped define them. We were in it together, yet worlds apart. I loved those books. I still do, but even now, they’re different. I’m different. It’s this blasted curse we’re all under. It’s this blessed transformation process called growth. It’s something else, too.