My sister loved sunflowers.
Anything worth loving in me died in a ditch behind a trailer park in northern Wisconsin. I’ve never been one much for talking. But I think I’d like to say something. I am all nerve endings. Don’t touch me. Don’t look at me. How dare you look at me? Keep your money, I come here to be lonely and broke. That is the whole point of me, you know. I’m like some sort of plot device the author chose to show how lost the human soul can be. I’m supposed to die horribly to teach you that life is short and beautiful or some ******** like that.
My niece liked pie. Not just any pie.
Pumpkin pie.
I could go on this whole speech about how you don’t know me. But I’m probably just as ridiculous as I seem. A stereotype confirmed. Go tell your friends you’ve found Waldo in the wild. It probably won’t happen again.
My mother collected angel statues.
No, I wouldn’t change anything. I’ve tried so hard to fix the people in my life. To fix myself. But my hell has made me complacent and I just don’t give a **** anymore. Spite is the only thing keeping me alive. Spite and Jack Daniels.
You know, I used to like to sing. Isn’t that interesting?