Tuesday. Nine fifteen. She was late. She should have left the house fifteen minutes ago. He was worried. Was she ill? Had she hurt herself? Slipped in..
I am a forgotten journal entryOn a page you left untouched.My words speak of isolation,Depression,ConfusionAnd hurt.My dents - a ghost of a scarOf the..
My friend thinks she'sA horrible person.Iwould completely disagree,If not for the fact,That every human being,Without fail,Is a horrible person.Wait.I..
You're sweeter than a pick-a-mix,More vibrant than a rose.Your eyes were loyal and caring,Same colour as your nose.Your fur was like a velvet shrug,So..