How to Fix a Broken Girl
- LECTURAS 164
- Votos 4
- Partes 3
Continúa16m
Última publicación lun, ago 25, 2014
I met a broken girl back in kindergarten. She had bruises peppering her skin that should have been so perfect. Her hair was wild, and I soon found out that those golden, curly locks were an exact reflection of her soul: wild. Free. That was when I had dinosaur bandaids on both my knees. I can't remember what happened for me to need those bandages, but I do know that it was the direct result of some youthful ignorance, and I had a hell of a time creating those injuries.
I didn't know she was broken when I met her. All I knew was that her name was Lauren, and she looked a lot like a lion with her hair. She had a musical laugh when I pushed her really high on the swings. She liked the PowerPuff Girls (her lunchbox was Buttercup's face, apparently her favorite), and we always talked about whether the Red PowerRanger or Blossom would win in a fight to the death (she was adamant that Blossom had it. I wasn't convinced.)
I met a broken girl back in kindergarten. And she was my best friend. I made a pinky promise with Lauren back then. I told her we'd be best friends forever, and I was real serious about it because pinky promises were for forever. Infinite.
But it's hard to conceptualize infinity when everything ends.
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