❝the shadows are hunting me; taking away the pain inside but causing me even more than before❞ And then he told her the story about how the sun loved the moon so much that he died every night to let her breathe
sometimes you need to bleed out words to feel okay. sometimes those bled words take the shape of a poem.
She's a teardrop. She's the wind. She's the summer, and the winter. She's the cold coffee. She's everything, and, at the same time, she's nothing.
She flourished on things nobody wanted. A short story about a girl and all the things she couldn't be. Copyright © 2014 by Daisy Winthrop. All rights reserved.
