it,” she said.
“I don’t need it anymore.”
“No,” she said. “But one day you may need to remember that you were believed before everyone else caught up.”
I took it.
Inside the barn, music rose. Someone cheered. A door opened, releasing warmth and laughter into the blue evening.
For years, I had thought the opposite of being excluded was being invited back in.
I was wrong.
The opposite of being excluded was building a door of your own, opening it wide, and deciding exactly what kind of love was allowed to enter.
