"You're really sick you know. I can't imagine someone being as mean and selfish as you, 𝘒𝘪𝘮 𝘐𝘷𝘺." He says, as he finally let go of her.
"Only if you had known my viewpoint, 𝘑𝘦𝘰𝘯 𝘑𝘶𝘯𝘨𝘬𝘰𝘰𝘬. Only if you knew." She barely whispers out...
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^picture of the Sanders brothers. (I imagine the top one as Rick.)
I had my effing exams, so... really sorry for the late update😔👉👈
😁📖
Do 🚿 your ❤⭐✨!
So....
"Mommy!" My ten year old self wrapped her arms around my mom's slender waist.
"Oh, you're back? Good. Now go and clean that desk for Papa, okay?" She bopped my scrunched nose with her finger, while smiling down at me. I pouted at the mention of cleaning.
I hate cleaning. It's so tiresome.
"Why me!?" I whined and crossed my arms across my chest. "I don't want to."
My mom laughed, filling the room with her melodious voice. Her voice was something so beautiful and unique, that I could listen to it the whole day without getting tired. Her beauty surged right through everything she did. But well, maybe I didn't get her genes.
"How about, umm, together we go to the art museum, tomorrow?" My eyes lit up as soon as she mentioned the art museum. She cupped my cheeks and pat it lightly while chuckling. "Well then, everything comes with a deal. You clean the desk like a good girl and you get your deal." I pouted but nonetheless nodded and stomped towards the old desk of our studio.
I really loved this little studio of ours. Mommy and papa would often be busy with their own albums and composing songs. So, I couldn't visit in here as often as I used to before.Sometimes, I really miss the old times, when we would spend nights in this wooden house, spending quality time with each other.
But as years passed, they sure did climb up the stairs of success, but slowly we were loosing the golden family we used to be.
I shook my head as I saw the number of torn and balled up papers lying on the floor beside. Papa really does work hard. And it's worrying the way he overworks himself just to sustain this little family of ours.
I slowly opened up one of the paper balls. I could immediately recognise the rough handwriting of my dad, with blotches of ink at almost regular intervals. I frowned as I stared at it.
Wish you knew. Who you are, Who you belong to, Who you should be with.
Wish you knew, Where you are, And where you should be Where you should've belonged to, But sadly landed up here, with us.
