I found this among a bunch of poems and stories I’d written. There’s a number of people it could be applied to, some famous and some not. It applies strongly to some people who are said to have an extreme intuitive knack around autistic people (and to the staff who said she had a knack for the developmental disability field — if you’re reading this, it’s about you, too):
You drop a ball and you know it will fall. You push a door and you know it will swing. Your experience tells you these things.
You push and you pull on a knot in my chest. You adapt to my every motion or action, like some kind of giant Hydra standing in my path no matter where I look or what I do. Thinking vanishes. There is only reaction. To you.
When I was a kid, I was in a hallway, and a bully came out of nowhere, all legs and arms. She would not let me go in either direction. No matter where I went, she blocked me, making loud noises. I thought I would never get away from her.
You’re like her, only you are more skilled than she is. Your blocks are more graceful and fluid, they look less like blocks, more like an oscillating dance of firm and gentle redirections.
I may look defiant, or compliant, or cute, or happy. I may look a lot of things. But you are there, you are influencing every one of these things.
You are said to be a miracle worker with a gift for working with people like me, and a deep understanding of us. Much of the world mistakes control for understanding, even love. So do you.
So tell me, if you understand so much, how did the ball feel about being dropped? How did the door feel about being pushed? What did they feel before they were dropped and pushed? What were they doing with their days? How do I feel about your presence in my life?