… And she’s sitting on the same old chair… looking outside the foggy window, watching the snow fall in thirteen different shapes… the truck turns into the narrowest street and the only warm soul is the hot dog mate under his *yellow* shield…
The clock
is
ticking
11:39:41
42
forty three,
four
and
five
tick
and
tock
F$^%in’ hell!
she has
*butterflies*
all around her;
drowning down
in her mind,
her own soul
and
her veins.
S
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Shadan jan ,
I remember in one of your posts you mentioned how your writing has been improved since you have started this blog, would you mind to say some tips on how you did that and what do you recommend
observe ur surroundings with an open heart 😉
sending u great vibes and a greater smile mr./ms. anonymous… bis x