It is arguable what one would call ‘normal,’ because normal is always subjective. Yet, we strive for it without realizing the complications or the boundaries we’re expected to uphold in order to preserve the illusion.
For now, my normal is being able to think and write without guilt or restriction, though restriction, once again, is subjective. And I understand, my normal might look completely abnormal for someone else.
Perhaps we are all ‘normal,’ hiding behind the secret of just how far from normal we truly are. Who am I to argue that’s not normal?
This piece is written in response to the two hundredth and eighty ninth edition of Fiction Monday inspired by the word prompt – NORMAL hosted by yours truly. Do join in if you have a tale to tell.
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