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Dec 2013
The ink has dried on your forehead from where it rested so forcibly
on your hand
which had been stamped with the name of some bar you can't remember,
but it was held by a stranger all the same as you left.

And the only proof that last night even happened is on the sidewalk downtown.

It's a fractured piece of a tiara which told the world "I'm 21!" but didn't actually make you feel very royal, but it was enough, you thought all the same, to be enough for a while.

Except now you're awake and so unbelievably ******* sober and each second allows for more remembering and oh **** no, you don't want that. So you grab your heels and tip toe quietly out the door because no one needs another reason to feel sorry, and life is hard enough as it is all the same.
Teresa Smith
Written by
Teresa Smith  Kent
(Kent)   
399
 
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