SCRIBBLES: A SHORT STORY
- LETTURE 4
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- Parti 1
She had a scattered mind. Post-its and agendas wouldn't work for her; she'd forget where she'd stuck them or she'd forget to look at the agenda. Unintelligible scribble here, "Vey Blvd. 3:30pm" written on the back of her hand. Her skin was her most reliable notepad.
He, an artist. Doodle here and doodle there. He treated his skin as if it was a canvas. Constellations, skeleton hands, he'd drawn it all.
Both of them, living in a world where everything you write on your skin also shows in your soul mate's.
[YET TO BE WRITTEN]
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hiddengem
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