In his eyes, she could do nothing wrong. She was a masterpiece, perfect. No words could describe her. No matter what everyone else thought about her, she was perfect and he hated it. He hated how everyone did see her. They saw her as nothing more than a insane ,useless , piece of nothing. The saw her as the girl with blood on her hands. They saw her as one of the few who got away with it. They were wrong he would tell himself. He would tell himself that she was fine, and when he could not convince himself that she was fine he would tell himself she will be. Only she knew why he would tell himself this. He was blinded by love ,a absolute love for her. A love so strong ,not even she the girl who was so wise she was called insane knew why he loved her. Only him, only he loved her when nobody else would, and even in the eyes of the insane. It was beautiful.
YOU ARE READING
Tacenda
RandomTacenda: meaning better left unsaid. This is a odd book of my odd fourth grade level writing that would be better left unsaid. Like a journal of sorts, but its here. On watt pad for you to read.
