She writes about herself in the most beautiful way. She inks her words in the thoughts of others. They never know its about her. She lies. She lies about herself so easily, because the distress of her words doesn't match her persona. She lies because she has to. She lies to exist.
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Stories by Opal Rose
to her, to them, to me
words I cannot say, words I cannot send. not to her, not to me
misconceptions.
what you see is not what you get
boy in the blue car
just another of my high school fantasy dilemmas dug up in an old notebook.
