I’ve seen some things, things about Alisha that I can’t unsee. My eyes gaslight my memories, setting ablaze the simple fact that, although I tried, I’ll never get over Alisha. And want to, I never will. The love of my life weaved her way through my heart with growing pains, strangling my self-esteem. What’s left of me exists in a breath, not a feeling; now we’re even—even if she doesn’t believe it. Casting stones from this glass house holds its roots in an autumn afternoon. (Sample)
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