Her room is naked, stripped of photos and posters, most of them, teenage infatuations now relegated to the waste basket. The pale pink walls, a pre-teen request that she spent the last five years hiding, look lighter, even prettier.

The bare room doesn’t look sad, or lonely; for the first time she realizes it won’t break down in her absence, nothing will. Her entire childhood has seeped into the cracks and ridges of the room; but seventeen years is a long time; she can’t wait to get out, and away.

She doesn’t know it now, but every now and then, when things out there get twisted and sour, she’ll come back to the comfort of these pink walls, and it’s here that she’ll find old stories and the confidence to step out and away again.


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