Punk 57

by Penelope Douglas

It feels like shit to be alone. To be in a place full of people and feel like they don’t want you there. To feel like you’re at a party you weren’t invited to. No one even knows your name. No one wants to. No one cares.

And it doesn’t matter. Someone else already has my heart, and Masen Laurent isn’t him. He’ll never be Misha.

Making sure the girl who got out a few minutes ago is tucked back inside, down deep.

I mean, using an Android phone doesn’t make him an introverted burner who probably won’t ever have a job or a valid driver’s license at the same time.

And I’m sure he didn’t mean what he said when he called me a Steve Jobs cultist who worships inferior technology because I’m too much of a bubblehead high on apps to know the difference.

“We’re all ugly, Ryen. The only difference is, some hide it and some wear it.”

No one does you better than you. You can’t be replaced. Not everyone will see that, but only you need to.”

“Life is fifty wrong turns down a bumpy road. All you can hope is that you end up somewhere nice.”