September 19, 2017 | Fiction
Our language is rapid and hard but we’re young so we giggle,... more
But while I am nervous for what’s to come, I’ve always found comfort in Paramore—whether I was: 15 and head banging to “Misery Business” during anime club; crushing it on my Rock Band drum set to “That’s What You Get”; fucking up at my first publishing internship with an earful of “Ain’t It Fun”; or lip-syncing to “Still Into You” in my junior year dorm room, at 4 a.m., when I was in denial about how in love I was with a best friend.
It is not the anniversary of her death that wrecks me but a day some weeks before it. It is the anniversary of the day I sat on my porch, barefoot, polyester graduation trappings in hand, and thought to call her but then did not because I was too busy.