The Watcher Girl

by Minka Kent

I have no desire to rewrite history, and I have little patience for those who feel the need to do so.

The average person has no idea how to look beneath the surface,

All I know is that we all have our fears, and oftentimes those fears dictate exactly how we live our lives—whether we realize it or not.

The urge to ruin all that is perfect is a sickness I’ve known my entire life, one I’ve yet to understand in my thirty years. And this sickness isn’t simply relegated to things—people fall into this category as well. The more perfect they are, the more I want to destroy them.

phone calls are easy to ignore, and messages are easy to miss, and the written word is easy to misconstrue.

I want him to know that I’m sorry, that he mattered to me—that he was the only one who ever mattered to me.

Every breath anchors me into this moment, where I can’t escape my past because it suffocates me with every familiar street sign.

“You make marriage sound like war.” “Isn’t it, though?”

It’s always fascinated me how the mere presence of certain people brings out sides of us we didn’t know existed, forcing us to be something we’re not, if only for a temporary moment.

I have something I’ve never had—acceptance that the past was perfectly imperfect, knowledge that the future will be, too, and hope that I’ll be around to experience every raw, beautiful minute of it.