Something inside me popped, dissolved, and died.
The residue spread like a dark stain on a white shirt, getting bigger and larger, giving way.
I waited for the stubborn struggle to dissipate, but, in the end, it closed in on me.
Forgotten or despised, which is better? “Who is this?” or “I never liked her.”
I wish I hadn’t noticed. I became curious and couldn’t help checking to see if it’d happen again. And, it did, again and again.
I’m okay … I’m okay … I’m okay.