There were just some charmed, beautiful people in the world, and they were always destined for each other. Gatsby and Daisy. Jordan and whichever man one day captured her attention. The couples in the club behind the florist. I wasn’t one of them. And it had nothing to do with the brown of my skin or being the kind of boy I was. It had to do with the splinter of cynicism I carried in my heart. Some people wore their broken hearts with careful grace. I didn’t. The pieces of mine scraped against everything, and everyone could hear the grinding noise, even if they didn’t know what it was.
