my friend showed me her sister today.
she's very pretty.
her hair is short like a boys and light brown like a graham cracker.
she wears black rectangular glasses.
her skin is ashen and she's diminutive in size for her age, standing at no taller than 5'1 and thin as a pencil.
she was sitting in her bed drawing, the bottom bunk of the bunk bed, my friends old bed.
her shirt was striped and tucked into her high waisted shorts.
she was drawing my friend again. I thought it was sad but my friend was used to it.
She drew glass coming out of her. That's when my friend cried.
I had to leave eventually and go back, much to my dismay.
I wanted to watch the pretty girl draw more. I wanted to watch her purse her lips as she focused. I wanted to watch her tilt her head while she drew every little detail she could remember of my friend, and her sister.
I wanted to talk to her. I wanted to ask her if she was broken. I wanted to hear her voice. I wanted to know her name. My friend didn't dare say it for even the thought of her old life made her cry.
I wanted her to know I was there, but sadly, that wont happen for a long time, or at least until she dies.
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pretty girl
ParanormalI wanted to talk to her. I wanted to ask her if she was broken. I wanted to hear her voice. I wanted to know her name. My friend didn't dare say it for even the thought of her old life made her cry. I wanted her to know I was there, but sadly, that...
