Angelaboutme -

The cement worked. For a decade, it worked beautifully.

At twenty-six, Lena was a freelance graphic designer working out of a cramped studio apartment in Portland. She had no pets, no plants, no relationships that lasted longer than three months. Her phone contained exactly forty-seven contacts, most of them clients. She paid her bills on time, ran four miles every morning, and never—not once—allowed herself to cry. angelaboutme

She didn’t know if Margo was real, not in any way that could be proven. Maybe she was a hallucination born of loneliness and a traumatic brain injury. Maybe she was a coping mechanism, a way for Lena’s psyche to give herself the love she had never received. The cement worked