Her pale face simmered through the adequate lighting in this hell hole of her favorite coffeee shop.
All I could do was sit across from her and linger at the thought of her laughing at me, leaving, at touch of another man.
Was this the way she was meant to be or is this her thoughts of the past getting the best of her?
Regardless she was beautiful as ever but with a touch or regret, love, and depression.
YOU ARE READING
The book for Annallee
PoetryPoems/short stories about her. She'll go by Annallee in hopes she won't find this.
