Chapter One: Her
She was beautiful. I was bland.
She was the wind. I was the tree bending beneath the weight of her glory.
Her fingers were dainty as they would lie upon mine.
My glasses fell over my face as a shield.
She was solitude.
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Becoming Me
Короткий рассказHow does one live? Must we have fun, joyous times, or work every second to get that one meal or maybe go to church? I'm not sure. I can tell you, however, that living has to involve all of them. But living doesn't just involve those things, it in...
