Under Locke

by Mariana Zapata

Life was hard sometimes, and there was no book or movie that could prepare you for how harsh it could be.

They were memorials and declarations. They were outpourings of love and pain. Letters and images, icons and symbolism, personal and eternal.

Sometimes strings of letters were meaningless in comparison to actions. Actions held the power of a choir versus the strength of a solitary singer. My bones recognized that this was all I would get, this one-person a cappella.

"Babe, I've handpicked everythin' and everyone in here. I know what I want, and I get what I want," he breathed. "And I keep what's mine."

"That fuck is not worth your tears. He is not worth the love you've given him. He doesn't deserve it, and he never will. I'm sure you needed your dad as a kiddo, honey, but you got a shitty one. And that shitty one is not gonna define you. He is not gonna be the reason you cry or don't trust people ever again.

you have to fight through some shitty-ass days to get to the best days of your life.