Once upon a time I was brave. I didn’t need help. I didn’t need prompts like this, because the words flowed fast and strong, without any effort beyond a hand holding a pen steady. And this is how fairy tales are born. Events that are half remembered with a fondness, a nostalgia and retold in such a way that they flatter the protagonist. I often speak of being unaware of when I stopped being brave, when I became afraid of…
