Act 1. She recited her lines like a seasoned musician would strum their guitar. A familiar song, speaking to the audience before her in a melody known only to those with the score.
An apology. All I really wanted was an apology, any sort of acknowledgement that you see what you did wrong to me.
you think I’m on my knees but I am not on my knees every step is preparation muscles slowly locking into place beneath bruised skin
When I was a child, I used to lie through my teeth; Make up all these fanciful stories About who I was, Where I’d been,