Magazines
She was an addict, and magazines were her disease.
Some were bright and glossy with the finish still on them. Others were only tatters, barely held together by years of glue. All together were probably more than a thousand.
They were all stacked up in rows, columns, towers. They could probably make a small forte, house, or a castle even. Piles and piles; they were all hers. Collected ever since she was young.
Of all the people and things that have come and gone out her life these are the only ones that have stayed. These amazing, glorious, pictured filled things called magazines.
They were her comfort, her disease.
They were all stacked up in rows, columns, towers. They could probably make a small forte, house, or a castle even. Piles and piles; they were all hers. Collected ever since she was young.
Of all the people and things that have come and gone out her life these are the only ones that have stayed. These amazing, glorious, pictured filled things called magazines.
They were her comfort, her disease.