I wear my heart on my sleeve. Under my sleeves. Every single day. A mess of white lines and pink bumps. They have crinkled my skin prematurely. Made me look like a deviant, or a victim. In summer, I swallow shame and go outside, arms exposed to the sun, heart exposed to the public. My heart- etched over my pulse points, spreading veins of scars up to my shoulders. It is almost like having my old diaries read by strangers. If the diaries were written in a language, a short-hand, that they recognised but did not fully understand.
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Science museum with SM today. It was really, really good fun. I wish we'd had longer but I had to pick up Bee, so had to do mad racing back towards St Joe's at 2. We have vowed to do another, similar day but with more time so we can "do" lunch, like the civilised young ladies that we are. It's weird; some friends you never get awkward with. SM's the one friend I kept from Sacred Heart.
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No word from Naomi. I suppose that I'll never know...
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