You are listening to someone talk, but the longer they keep talking the less sense they make.
You try and pay attention, but the imagery gets more and more dreamy.
You start losing track of time in the descriptions.
An emptiness inside.
Darkness outside.
You can't come in.
This is after all, a white hole.
YOU ARE READING
Letter To My Past Self
Não FicçãoThese are several short stories about my life. There are several triggers such as rape and PTSD.
