When I was thirteen, my mother took me to the fairy room.

To be completely honest, the fairy room was just a dimly-lit dance studio in a small-town YMCA, but I swear there was magic there. My mother took me to the fairy room because I had lost all the magic, and I needed something. And so she tried everything, but I think the fairy room worked the best out of anything.

The long, impeccably clear mirror was like a pool of water that none of them except for me, a fledgling, would look into. They danced around the river, free from the entire world. They wore light, airy skirts that twirled as they danced on wings that I could only dream of. And a lot of the time, I was looking out the little sliver of a window of the door, to see if any of my peers were looking on. I'm sure they would get a kick out of the fat girl and her mother dancing merrily, yet self-consciously, next to some hippie weirdos. As time progressed, I got better at letting them go.

(Actually, this should probably be a poem...)

"The Fairy Room"

when i was 13 my mother took me to
the fairy room.
it was just a room with a long mirror, dimly lit in
a small-town YMCA, but i think that she took me there because
they had drained the magic from my veins and
i needed desperately to let go. always holding on, i gazed
impeccable seas of imperfection looking back at me,
deep brown eyes the graveyards of suburbia
and fairies danced around.