A white striped dress hugging my body clinging to my empty belly, filled with nothing but too much of the cheapest liquor money can buy. My lips smiling, a heart the color of the 11:30 sky. The expectations of birthday hung stagnant in the room like a portrait of paradise hanging in a museum that no one, bothers to look at. Anything but perfection would be a tragedy.
House music beating mercilessly on the drums in my ears, though I am far from home. Countless sets of eyeballs pleading with me to not let them leave alone. Cupid’s name should be overpriced shots because I fell in love that night.