We Ate the Dark

by Mallory Pearson

The fact of the matter, the real meat of her hurt, was that she was always leaving something behind, even when she came home.

Pink for the bond we share, everlasting. White for a blank and purifying slate. Out with the old, in with the new.

When she goes, she will meet others who will take care of her, and she will never need me again. They will love her because it is easy to love her. They will listen to her because she has so much to say, and she will have no words left for me.