The shine of her red hair faded the same as my affection, into a dull and listless, greasy smear. The flaws in her perfect makeup began to scream for recognition. I am compelled to acknowledge them with a plastic smile and carefully approved social niceties. Bottles of unused pills are strewn on her counters. Tiny testaments to her poor impulse control and lack of discipline.
10:50 a.m. - 2017-01-16
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