His words were dry, like a desert, and her mind was as unexplored as a rain forest. They intertwined their fingers, balancing each other out in a way of excellence, like maybe she was his rain and he was her drought, like maybe their galaxies touched and created the Earth; a balance between droughts and floods.
YOU ARE READING
Thoughts
RandomYou're an artist," I tell him. "How so?" "You paint a smile on every face you come across," I say, "but there's always a twist with artists." "What's my twist?" "You never paint a smile on yourself."
