She keeps notes on her phone of appointments and things to pass on to others. Every so often the need to write a song overcomes her and lyrics pour over into her notes. Somewhere along the line she wrote another entire song about him. It’s beautiful. She hates it. She hates that she loves it and that this is the best art she’s created in a year.
She writes a poem. It’s angry and ugly and her mother thinks it’s beautiful and powerful. It makes her feel weak.
She’s been writing her feelings and posting to an old blog from tenth grade that no one looks at. She likes the feeling of putting herself out there for no one to see.
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