Hannah Brencher. If you find this letter ... How I found the meaning of life by writing hundreds of letters to strangers (№ 455895)

It's not as easy as it was back in the days when I was five years old and my best friend and I pretended to swap hair like it was helmets on our heads before running out onto the tarmac for a walk. She traded her rope braids for my orphan Annie haircut, and it seemed to us that there was nothing more beautiful than being someone else for a long thirty-five minutes. It turns out that this kind of mobility and vividness of the imagination reaches a peak and begins to fade around the age of thirteen. And yet, in that fitting room, I wanted to be someone else. To be someone in the spaces that surrounded me on all sides.