She was feeling free in her sparkly over-sized sweater and skinny jeans. The shiny grey threads hid her most-hated body part, her stomach, and allowed her to breath for the night. All her secrets were tucked away in her messy bun, perfectly imperfect, held together with a brown hair band. While winter was penetrating her soul, she held onto an optimism that the sun would come out even for a second.

Then the drinks start flowing too easily, and her hair unravels. The liquid therapy turns alcohol into an ocean of tears. The salty ocean waves sting her pale but red skin. What is wrong, everyone begs. Her strikingly blue eyes tell a confusing story no one can quite make sense of. What is wrong, the words repeat in her head, she dissects each. Over and over and over, she begins to speak but nothing leaves her tongue. Her stories stay lodged in her throat.

One thought on “A Mostly True Story

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