You Have to Come to My Funeral

Sometimes she was the person in the book who watched the evening twilight with me at five o'clock. Sometimes, when I was going through a breakup, she would rush over to my place, give me a thorough beating, and tell me to get myself together and stop looking like a country bumpkin.

From those evening clouds to that beating, seven whole years passed, from when we were twelve or thirteen to when we were eighteen or nineteen.

Two little girls flailed through life and grew into adults riddled with anxiety.