January 2011
3 posts
Rooted.
She doesn’t remember the last time someone really asked ‘how are you’ it’s always rushed, half-meant, or as she’s walking into the front door and being greeted by a relieved, longing, smile. Their little girl, is crumbling. Her smile— brighter than ever though, deceiving. The lies have become so tangled and twisted she wonders if she can believe them too. Some days...
And after the storm, I run and run as the rains...