Sometimes, the smile on my lips is a good tool to hide the scars I have deep under. The sound of laughter which expertly drowns the heavy, silent sobs, the joyful memories that cloud the dark remains of my heart, and the easy stupidity which can only try to extinguish my dangerous thoughts, which I fear the most.
Who says time heals all?
The time feeds my black soul, in my case.
And with time, I've learnt to take pride in my darkness.
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Whispers
Short Story[#1 in readbetweenthelines] [Featured in GothicLit Reading List] Some things we don't say. But those thoughts never vanish. They just go a bit deeper and shake up the inner conscience. Hi there, these are some self-composed short stories that might...
