6th of July.
My toenail got a small cut and it's quite sore. My mother saw me putting a bandaid on it. She insisted on cleaning it and to aid my cut instead. I was holding my phone chatting on that guy and we're in conflict, I guess. I don't understand anymore. I don't want to end everything between us but he seems to be ready for it. I fuckin' cried and my mother thought I was in pain because she's actually cleaning the cut on my toenail. She asked, "Does it hurt? It'll be fine, this will heal soon"
I cried harder as I nodded. Even though I didn't really feel any pain from that cut. I cried harder and harder — he's accusing me again. Now, I could see us falling apart. I feel so damn heavy.
"Does it really hurt that bad?," my mother asked. Our neighbor came in and saw me crying. What the heck. It's not the cut. It's not.
Rain
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HER JOURNAL
Non-FictionIt includes real life situations and events. A glimpse of HER thoughts. Contains poems, quotes and prose. Welcome to HER world - a concoction of peotic sentiments and confessions drizzled with grayish clouds of chaos dusted with fragility and ardor.
