I remember laying in my best friend’s bed one night.
She fell asleep before me as usual, chanelling in and out of nighttime jiberish
I remember resting my thigh against the bare white wall in an attempt to cool off from the encompassing Arizona heat.
I remember the dryness of my tongue—a common side affect of Quinn being hydro flask-deprived.
I remember the subtle taste of grape in my mouth from the dissolving melatonin I had just taken.
I remember my cheeks itching from dry tears.
And I remember thinking nobody loves me.
Nobody loves me.
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