and instantly kills,
You see, that's a little over the top. Lady Gaga attends funerals in glass platforms as tall as your favorite brother, and we may not get what we want next year due to popular vote and persistent whining from the Electoral College. But there lives a spider behind the collapse of your deflated dreamboat we remember as "my fiancée." And to this day, I still keep a tally of all the Kleenexes you've owed me as you lambasted someone you'll never know, for professional services you'll never seek.
While there are days to remind us that dreams are just as they sound - wads of confetti asphyxiating pigeons drawn to neon in this garish dusk - the teacher who assured you "things will come back to them" after cheerleaders stole your pants will stand in her correctness, at least once. But you can't get too mad when what assures is set to transpire two decades in time. Does shaking your first at Internal Revenue expedite a pedicure? Not necessarily.
But you were never the type to throw $1,223 down the toilet when it ambled home two months late. You never did it with this guy. Not in front of us, I truthfully attest. However, claiming you were unbothered by his yeasted disassembly of porcelain babies we never really wanted would be like my saying "it's okay" when asked why I didn't say anything when cheerleaders stole my sandwich.
Karmic fields stretch, millimeters wide.
Kristine Brown is a freelance writer and editor from Southwest Texas who dreams of painting and writing novels full-time. When time permits, she tends to her hobby of selling tile coasters, along with learning French and refining her Tagalog. She amuses herself with experimental milkshakes that include matcha green tea powder and vanilla hemp milk.