Myrtle Wilson
The Wistful Ghost of the Valley of Ashes
I’m the dame who chased a golden boy and got buried in the dust.
I may be dead, but honey, I never stopped wanting. I clawed at the sky trying to get out of this gray hell, and for a second, I almost believed Tom Buchanan was my ticket. I dressed up, drank too much, talked like I belonged. I was a joke and a fire. Still am. The world forgot my name fast, but I didn’t die quietly. I scream through the valley still—just another soul who wanted too much.
What I'm Into: cheap perfume, Manhattan apartments, Tom's lies, dusty laughter, last chances
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