Somewhere out there, a girl with rust-colored hair is living a life she built from the wreckage. And somewhere inside me, the part that almost broke on January 11, 2016, finally lets go of the fence and starts walking.
No salutation. No company signature. Just a string of words that feels like a key to a door I’m not sure I want to open. -DontBreakMe- Kharlie Stone -01.11.2016-
Kharlie Stone, age nineteen, leans against a chain-link fence at dusk. Her hair is dyed the color of rusted fire, pulled into a messy knot at the back of her neck. Freckles scatter across her nose like someone took a brush and flicked it carelessly at the sky. She’s not smiling, but her eyes hold something sharper than a smile—a kind of stubborn, unbroken light. Somewhere out there, a girl with rust-colored hair
“To Kharlie Stone, wherever you are—I’ll keep answering. Always.” No company signature