Sticky note.

104 17 14

"Hey, stranger who lived my whole life taking care of me.

This is another high school story.

Yes, it includes heartbreak, euphoria, rebellion, revelations, and secrets.

But I'll tell you more.

Like how I mastered the sixth sense of self-preservation, running from shadows waiting for favors by my locker after Olympiad class. Like how my brother and I shivered in a cold bedroom, laughing our hearts out, warming each other with scalding hot fairy lights lit for hours. Like what made me watch my boyfriend hump a strange, beautiful brunette unaware of a third presence in that dingy, unisex bathroom. Like how my classmates found me spread-eagled on a desk and the Physics professor's hand down my jeans. Like how my straight red As on all tests turned into straight red lines on the surfaces of both my wrists. Like how my best friend took me into her arms and kissed the daylights out of me, telling me not to go, to stay with her. How she made me believe it would be all right despite it ruining me, breaking me continuously, piece by piece every moment that passed.

I am sorry that I don't want to live it anymore. This corpse of a girl, walking, talking, laughing and crying nothing but air and salty water, this corpse needs to stop pretending it is alive. Please. I am taping this on the fridge because this is where you told me all the time that you will be late coming home, that dinner is on the table.

Dinner is on the table. But I am not coming home again.


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