- Reads 3
- Votes 2
- Parts 1
- Time <5 mins
Ongoing, First published Feb 23, 2021
Words were ready to breakthrough her itching finger tips. She imagined scratching her fingers and pouring out dark letters. Forming into words, and sprawling all over clean white table. Words, no one ever should know.
How had she survived writing a dozen books, when her own story was still unrevealed. How had she forbear spilling the lies of fake people, void of all real emotions. How could her fingers endure.
Was it all a cover over the real memories that were peeking through her, or was those her way of piling up enough courage and dignity to erupt someday?All Rights ReservedTable of contents
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