She lives on the eleventh floor of a little apartment building in Parramatta.
She shaved her head.
She wears pyjamas and baggy clothes everywhere.
She feels the need to make herself look unattractive because of what happened all those years ago. It has scarred her, and she will never again know what it feels like to be truly happy. Because the memories haunt her every day, every night, in everything she does. She greets children into her home, she is so kind and generous to everyone she meets. From the outside, she just looks like a tall skinny 60-year-old woman with a shaved head and baggy clothes. You wonder because of her bubbly personality if she donated her hair to charity. But you don't understand until you have been told by the whispers of the corridors. The rumors. She is living her outside life under a facade of generosity, not willing to disagree with anyone, in case they dig deeper and accidentally slice away the top layer of what she calls her big secret. Then it all begins to unfold. She is a broken woman with a broken heart, a broken home and a broken life.
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the random shit in the notes of my phone
Randomjust a bunch of stories and thoughts from the notes of my phone...some complete exaggerations, some real life and some fantasies. some are theories about people and what they really think behind closed doors.
