but i've been sitting here for the past three hours,
hearing you with patience every time you ask me who i am.
i want to ask you if you don't realise you just asked that question a second ago.
and a million times since morning.
but i don't ask.
because i know you don't have the answer.
it seems like a game now.
you asking this question until you get tired of doing it, which is not before the other person loses patience and leaves.
something you do whenever you see a new person.
and obviously, everyone is a new person after that accident.
but this game between you and me, it's been twenty days.
you still ask every morning.
and me? i reply with the same three words as i did the first day, with an untiring smile.
"i'm your daughter."
أنت تقرأ
broken crayons
القصة القصيرةstatus: completed. "running, running, running, screaming. tripping, falling, hurting, bleeding." a daughter's second chance at love. #itsnotaphase PUBLISHED NOW. AVAILABLE ON AMAZON AND FLIPKART ORDER NOW.
