There was an innocence that you never recognized in my eyes, perhaps it was my age in numbers, or the life you perceived I lead. The girl with a city’s worth of stories carried around in a too-big bag must have been around a few times, or more. Purity did not emenate off of my skin because so much of it had been ripped from me, without warning, or consent. But that’s the thing, if I did not give things away freely had I really given them away at all?

Hope was my only refuge, and I clung to it, desperately wanting it to make thing go away, to make things change, and regrow. I planted flowers in vacant lots, left ripped out pages of books on park benches, and rolled up coins at bus stops. I was too young to believe in karma, or really know what it meant, but I kept trying to believe if I put kindness into the world it would surround me eventually. I persisted in the belief that if I told myself I was innocent it would make it true.

Naivete was my poison pen, my fatal flaw, and that is what you did see in me. You used it to suit whims and lonely Saturday nights, and then forgot to call. I have to thank you though, you did help me to grow up even faster. Before long I felt older and wiser, albeit more than a little broken. I swore that I would never be so stupid, or young, again.

You Could Make a Killing :: Aimee Mann

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