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by Jennifer Hartmann

Father didn’t love me; Mom didn’t love me enough. I guess that was why I loved too much. I had a lot of loveless holes to fill.

Everything was hollow. Everything except for my heart. And having an abundant heart in a hollow world was an affliction I was helpless to overcome.

I thought maybe Reed liked the way I looked. He kept studying me in a way that made my skin itch. But not like spiders crawling down my spine in the same way Father’s voice boomed through me and tangled me in cobwebs, but like little fireflies with streaks of light skittering across my chest.

Do you like tragic things? Are you drawn to the ghosts in my eyes?

“Relationships are overrated. Love is nothing but a building block for collapse. A stepping stone for tripping and stumbling into a black hole you can’t climb out of it.”

But being jaded doesn’t come with age; it comes with hardship. And hardship can blow through like a stormfront, destroying everything in a blink. Five years old, fifteen, fifty. Doesn’t matter. Once you’re caught in the funnel, you never stop spinning out.”

“So, you hate peanut butter, house parties, and love. What do you like?” “I like you.”