The tears just want to bubble out. And I let them come. I’m tired of pretending in this-corporate-circus-of-life.

‘Lady, let me take a look at you now’. (It does appear that the soundtrack to my current depression will be exclusively the Little River Band.) The mirror tells me I am now looking much older than I was last week. He wouldn’t love me now. Not anymore.

My niece calls me, husky, chuckling and nearly 12. I pray to a god I don’t know exists that she’s somehow spared this.


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