Los Angeles is truly a tennis court in a country club. You can see it from the outside, but you need to know someone to get in.
I listen to the lyrics, 'we’re fated to pretend', like a mantra. Is this what it means to be in your 20s?
My name sounds different when she says it, and often, I ignore her the first time so I can hear her call it again.
The blue star light went to my room, the Pokémon poster and books went to my sister, and the guitar went to a corner in the living room, where everyone fights the urge to strum it when they walk past. What are we if not pieces of our older sibling, broken off and handed to us as they grow?