Don’t you think it’s sad some people are only remembered by the graffiti about them on the bathroom stalls?

If Amber kept up her act forever, it would only be a matter of time before the broken pieces of her real self were too small to ever be put back together. I didn’t know...

I’m not allowed to be who I really am.

It was a single line amid a wall of hate. It barely made a difference.But it was a start—and that was all that mattered.

Sure, you can scribble out the words or try to paint over them, but beneath the layers of paint and ink, they’re still there, branded to our cores like initials carved in a tree.