Milk Rotting Beside Crushed Eggs
Nov 7 · 4 min read

I wore a baggy pair of jeans that hadn’t been washed in months and a t-shirt that belonged on a person twice the size of me. My hair was in a messy bun and my baby hairs stood on end as if a helium balloon had been rubbed on the top of my scalp. I am average, I am average, this is okay. The only part of me that drew unwanted attention my way were my eyes. They were hazel with flecks of gold and green surrounding the pupil. They…

