My fingers find the red, worn-out shoelace around my wrist. Twist it around compulsively. It’s nearly impossible to do given how tight the thing’s become. I’ve been retying it within an inch of its flimsy life every time it’s fallen off over the past ten years. Really, I should cut it off. Burn it in a purging ritual or something. Hope it finally cleanses me of these incessant thoughts. Stops her from popping up in my head every other second.
