fall, autumn, wind. 

there's something poetic about a wounded child who's not been healed, eventhough they're trying their best to be okay. the wounds are my words, and my scars are my stories. 

my last name is Rey, a not so perfect woman. my ray of sunlight in life is pretending to be busy, so that i cannot hear the voices inside of me. i fell apart, when September came. i lost myself and my other half, on a random September day.