She said, “When I was 18 …”

I use this blog like a scrapbook of writing I find interesting. Sometimes it’s the topic, other times it’s the prose. This writer travels a very long distance, very neatly, in just two sentences.

When I was 18, my boyfriend of two years hanged himself from the rafters of his garage. He was the first boy I kissed, the first I loved, the last person I talked to at night and the first person I talked to in the morning, until one sunny day in November when I woke up to a call from his mother. [link]

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