But even if it kills me ...
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Well, the room is nearly cleaned; all the people in their prospective boxes. All the clothes in the suitcase. All the makeup in its place.
My hair is blonde again. Sort of. More like the sun kissed me on the forehead and bled its tears across my locks. It's nice. It's more familiar. And I feel better. Chin's a little higher.
San Francisco in two days. Kyle's house tonight for banana bread with Heather. And hopefully some life-counseling. And "where do I go from here?"
'Another suitcase in another hall. Take your picture off another wall.'
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... I'm gonna smile.
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