"april fourth, nineteen seventy-seven. this goes out to stella. how long will it be before the rain stops? do you think the skies want a break from crying too? i haven't seen so many wet roads in years, but then again i haven't lived for very many. do you think it'll be that way in the future too?"
a floral arrangement was stenciled below, the last clue to whoever had owned the journal before kurt.
his eyes glossed over it quickly before turning toward the front of it, noticing two names awkwardly carved onto the cover.
chris cambria.
unfamiliar.
quickly gathering his belongings, he sat up and began trailing down the same dirt path he'd taken to get below the wishkah bridge.
the journal hung loosely between two fingers, swinging along with his arms as he tossed a cigarette into rushing waters and didn't once look back.
although the walk had become a routine, there lied a difference between this one and dozens before.
and it all had to do with that fucking journal.
KAMU SEDANG MEMBACA
lake of fire , k. cobain
Fiksi Penggemar"people cry and people moan, look for a dry place to call their home. . ." • • • IN WHICH chris cambria's journals fall into the hands of kurt cobain after a day spent at the wishkah, leaving him to dissect the remains of a seemingly perished m...
