Nov 24, 2017
my eyes are circled with bruises made by late-night wishing. she tells me I'm too old for this place, my soul too ancient for lockers and gossip. I smile with my broken-hearted eyes and tell her she's too young for this world of smoky lies and silky soft prayers that mean nothing. sometimes when I go home and all is quiet, and there is no yelling downstairs, sometimes, I think about her, when I am sure the image of her will not be tainted by a ruined family. I think about all the hers I know, all the ones that I love. so, darling, if you’re reading this, yes, it is about you. I miss your sugar-sweet smile.
