Sometimes when I am asleep, and the wind is coming in through the window of my childhood bedroom, I can almost feel you here. For a sleepover, the way we used to do all the time. It was just our clothes then, I didn’t know what was mine or yours. It was our day then, we never left each other’s sides. It was our life then, a pact that if we made it to 40 and were still single, we’d run away together and live on the beach in Mexico. I always wake up in a sweat from those dreams now. Now I live in your phone as an unknown cell number, I live in your photos as a girl you used to know. I live in that stain I left on the carpet of your truck when my bubblegum ice cream melted. Now I’m the most hated girl. For twenty-five years in a row. If you’ve never been the last choice friend, undiagnosed depression at a very young age, artsy but filled with melancholy girl, then you’ve never been the most hated girl. But I’ve worn her skin all my life. At first it was the separate group chat with 9 memb...
I remember the day I realized that everyone grows up. My sister (who is substantially older than me and also the best person in the world) and I used to play dolls. Like Bratz, and Barbie’s, Polly Pockets (we chewed on their rubber clothes, lol), and Pet Shops. All of it. And we didn’t just play a little bit. We built mansions, cities even. We made names, had characters, left the houses up for days behind the couch and annoyed my mom, it was the kind of thing that any 6-year-old would only dream about. When she got a bit older, and realized that I worshiped the ground she walked on, she made up games for me like “maid” where I would do all her chores while she watched MTV Cribs. And “spa” where I would paint her nails and run a bath with candles lit. We also played “school” where she was my teacher and she made up awesome little projects for me to work on. She was nothing short of amazing and creative. I loved it. And older still, she started to do my hair and makeup. This w...