left over

I’m staying in my college roommate’s stepmother’s house– I’m finding leftover things in drawers from a lifetime earlier with her own mother. I’m trying on clothes and jewelery for the party, and nothing is right– my reflection is bloated and off— every necklace I put on somehow makes me look gouty and gladular. I wander the halls of the old house, rooms done up for children long grown– at the back of the house is an old nursery room with a big bed for three children– it all looks a little cheap and threadbare and makeshift, and I know in no time the stepmother will have it done up properly, all remnants of this past family erased.

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