This will help you one day.
One day, when you are not eight. One day, when you are not looking for somewhere to stand in the playground, when you are not tying and retying your shoe lace in order to look occupied and unconcerned. One day, if you have nowhere to stand, you will be able walk away.
When you are not eight, you will realise that a view from the corner gave you a different landscape. Eyes that searched for acceptance, that distracted themselves with observation, will no longer see unmeasured glances of cruelty. Those same eyes will see the daffodil yellow of a sunrise and the blush of a robin’s breast and the dance of squirrels along the branches of an oak tree. When you are not eight, you will know that hours spent watching are never wasted.
One day, words will be your greatest ally. When you are not eight, words that cut and bruise so easily will be remembered, and you will understand the power of words and choose them with mindfulness and care.
When you are not eight, your friends will not all live within the pages of a book. You will say goodbye to Aslan and Meg and Mowgli, and your stories will be a choice, not a shelter. But one day, when you are not eight, you will look back on your old friends and realise how wisely you chose them.
One day, you will discover that not being selected is a selection all of its own.
When you have let go of the fear of unbelonging.
When you are not eight.