Rehab
The tear stained memory of his soft, pale hands combing through my hair flooded my mind. It's almost as if I could feel the presence of them traveling from my neck to my back again. The shattered remains of true love we once shared formed a a knife. A broken knife, which seemed to hack at my heart, rather than cut.
YOU ARE READING
Shorts
RandomThe best short stories aren't thought of when focused on for hours on end, determined to find a plot, they're thought of in the spice of a moment. Majority of the stories origins' contained here were thought of driving through a rainstorm on a Wedne...
