You're my legs, so you should stand up! Stop falling over, legs. Stop falling over and making me break dishes, legs!
If they're my legs, they're supposed to stand up and walk, right? They aren't supposed to just give in on me, right?
If I tell my brother, he'd probably just give me life alert or act like I'm an old person.
It's best I don't tell at all.
YOU ARE READING
Amara's Diary
RandomDon't expect this to be filled with a giggling girl talking about crushes. Or rather, like Prussia's diary. Property of Amara F. Jones.
