The Last Secret of Lily Adams

by Sara Blaydes

the incompleteness of that answer made my heart ache. Sometime over the last decade, I had faded to a faint outline of the person I once was. No color or richness to make me whole.

This was something else entirely—a grotesque fairy tale constructed from false promises and misguided hope.

Nothing is given, and everything is taken. That’s why you need to celebrate every part of it, no matter how big or small. Because you never know when it will be taken from you. You and I both know that movies are nothing short of magic, and things made of magic are too ephemeral to hold in one’s grasp.

I missed my grandmother so much. She was always so strong, so assured, even in the darkest moments. I wished I could talk to her one last time. Tell her how much I loved her.

My body had become something I didn’t recognize anymore. Something foreign and scary I couldn’t control, ever since I’d left dance all those years ago. It was easier to cover up and make excuses.

The loneliness that enveloped me was unlike anything I’d ever experienced before. Not the kind of stark, grief-filled loneliness that came from missing someone, like after each of my parents had died. This felt like I was shouting in a room full of people, but none of them could see or hear me. I was becoming invisible. Irrelevant.