The fleshy sack has been sprouting behind Shirelle’s ear ever since she was a little girl. She tucks all her bad feelings away in this pocket—shame, regret, depression—and there she lets them fester. Over the years they melted into a dreadful pus, which gradually filled the pouch. If you press on it, her heart hurts.
Had a party on Saturday night that went until 4 a.m. Haven't done that in a while. I am a sleepy girl today.