In Lark’s dreams, back then, when he went to conservatory, he would be formed into someone else, somehow. The part of him that practiced so hard for so long would overtake the other part of him that liked ironically ugly sweaters and electronic dance-pop and watching anime and scrolling through strangers’ livejournals until 3 am. The worst parts of him would be strangled, killed off by the good soil of discipline and expectation.
About The Author
fiction + theatre + digital storytelling • a pile of books on fire • a broken computer • an orphic menswear mannequin • they/them • writes The End + The Instant
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