When girls like us fall, there’s no one to catch us. Least of all that boy for whom we’ve taken the fall.
We’re the girls with secrets and witchy hearts. We’re the girls who listen to sad songs. Who slow dance to them with tears streaming down our faces, even as a smile lingers on our lips. Who cry in our pillows at night and who ride our sunshine-yellow bicycle along the empty, desolate, miserable places, where no one goes.
Saffron A. Kent, My Darling Arrow
