Memoir, Writing

Tear Girl

I wonder if I’ve made a terrible mistake. His Oldsmobile pulls away. Finally. Forever. Just like I wanted. My eyes are two brooks a gushin’. I’ve done it again, and this time it hurts differently though just as bad. This hurt has a dark scent, a full moon and a big, gaping wound that used to be a promise. At least we hadn’t gotten children involved; though we had gotten our parents involved, which is almost just as bad. The sun shines hard on my tear-stained face. I’ve looked like shit for weeks.

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