The whispers are everywhere.
The wind in grass and trees.
The waves.
But the whispers also are behind their hands.
Telling lies.
Judging others, too afraid to tell them face to face.
The whispers also are in our brains. Mine tell me that I'm not welcome
Anywhere anymore.
They're right.
YOU ARE READING
My mini sagas
Poetry[0.5] Home Home, for me, Isn't the place I grew up in. It's my friends. Songs. Beautiful moments. Train rides, Sleepovers, The ocean And escaping the rain in a café. It's also here: My online friends, wonderful people, amazing stories. I want you t...
