dear oliver,

i’m sorry. i’m sorry
that you have a fat,
hideous best friend.
or even if i call myself
that. you don’t need me.
i don’t deserve you.

dammit, i almost
lost it at the store,
oliver.

my fingers traced the
edges of the price tag,
the price didn’t blare
out, the only thing
that did was the size.

i can’t be that fat, can
i?

a sudden shuffle passed
by my side as i looked up.
a young girl with long brown
hair raised her eyebrow
at the shirt in my hand,
extended her hand and
reached for the small size.

a little scoff came out of
her lips as she left the
aisle.

go away. please.


quinn