Below her, the lights of the city flickered like a dying heartbeat.
She dyed her hair red in a motel bathroom. She told herself she wasn’t crying. She was just sweating through her mascara. born to die album song
After James left, she spent six months in a pink apartment with a broken freezer. She played Video Games on an old console he’d left behind, drinking cheap wine from the bottle, watching the sun slide down the wall. She’d sing to herself: “I’m your little scarlet starlet, singing in the garden…” No one was listening. But she learned something there, in that lonely hum—that being alone wasn’t the same as being empty. Below her, the lights of the city flickered