My twenty-fifth year began at Marie’s Crisis in the West Village, screaming show tunes, surrounded by my closest friends. Being encased with things and friends is all I ever wanted. It was every tangible goal I’d written on paper for myself. How do I work toward being likable? Being loved? Being wanted? How does my life appear full?

This year has been starving, devoid of attrition. I’d set up these gorgeous accolades to fill myself with, keeping me fat and round like King Henry the VIII. All of those things are gone. My new master's degree sits in the hall closet in my parent's house. I lost my dream job. I lost friends and things and twenty pounds without realizing. All the while the world lost and lost some more. It’s not my loss. The world’s loss isn’t something I can take ownership of or claim. It’s narcissistic to think I can incite mass change. …


Delaney Sweet

Fake blonde. Real writer. insta @delaneyasweet

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