it was such an incredibly non-incredible time and the generation had lost their minds. the nineties were gone and the century was in ruble, the best of it buried in older times.
another time was the mornings. when the sun spilled over the skyline, i'd see her walking with her head hung low. possessed by such shame that no child should know.
later, in the deep, dark nights when i swore i could hear her crying and i'd die inside because i didn't do a thing to make it stop.
or in the late afternoons when she fled from the porch and i'd sit on mine, wishing her to be fine.
i wasn't sure though so what could i say? i didn't know what was done, how could i make them pay?
her skin never bruised but the innocence left her eyes so quickly. it drew the sanity from my mind until eventually,
i
realized.
ESTÁS LEYENDO
only
Historia Corta. because her eyes looked in mine and built a tower in my heart, and every time she cried, it only all crashed down .
