What They Kept

Imagine how many others never returned theirs.

“Theirs” means the you they got. The one you couldn’t meet because you were stuck operating it.

That version’s been busy.

Someone turns a corner and sees a house painted purple enough to be legally loud. They know you’d defend it. They can already hear your argument about how beige has had more than enough chances.

The person beside them has no clue who you are.

“You don’t know them, but they’d lose their shit over this house.”

Now your name’s out. A description follows. Nothing useful like your age or occupation. They explain the important parts: what catches your eye, how thoroughly you care, and the noise you make when delight gets past security.

A stranger stands in front of an obnoxiously purple house and learns how to recognize your joy.

That’s what someone kept.

They knew your delight well enough to find it without you.

And now a person you’ve never met knows where it lives.

What happens when they carry it away hasn’t happened yet.

— Autistic Ang

* Upgrade to Paid! Writing may be an art but National Grid is stubbornly pro-currency.

How many more “Wait, everybody doesn’t do that?” moments are we planning to collect? ⬇️
Adult Autism 101