I remember, when you were scared to hold my hand in public. You were scared that your buddies will see us together. I was nothing but a toy for you when you needed someone to play with. Now you stand by my grave trying to pretend that you cared about me. But you aren't a good actor like others. So you put that white rose down and walk away from me just like you did when I was alive.
YOU ARE READING
•Memories of a dead girl•
ContoI remember feeling alone when I was alive. This is a short story about a dead girl who stands by her grave.
