what is it about being a teenage girl that makes the world burst into flames, then just as suddenly turn black and white and old? what is it about this tendency, this red river coursing through soft channels and sharp turns, this utter sense of hopelessness in the face of everything promising you can think of, that makes foundations wash away with a hiss on a midnight shoreline? what is it with these mirrors we build around ourselves? why do we try to follow these reflections, mimic these tricks of light, with the futile hope for being able to touch something warm and real, instead of the cold, hard glass that is reality?
what is this foolishness and when will it stop?
