Author S. K. Nicholas

You grew up reading Shakespeare under streetlights and pale grey skies, celebrated and seemingly wise drunks like Hemingway were the occupants of your time. Polaroids in your pockets of warm days running into shops that sold records from the 90’s your friends never liked. Blueberry bubblegum sticky under the seats of your dads new car. He brought rage disguised in hugs of all the things you ever wanted. Bulbs of fluorescent green neon, sweatshirts that swallow your hands accompanied by dry skin and hefty frames of Harry-Potter-like-glasses. Acne, horrendous bangs and embarrassing yearbook photos leading you to messy desks abundant in thin yellow paper and black ink scribbles those you pray will one day hold more worth. So you tell yourself life is just beginning with hands that shake too much and lips that bleed between the force of your teeth, knees that turn the shade of a dull purple…