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.
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Shorts
DiversosThe 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...
