She looked up,
clarity in her every movement,
but sometimes the perfect things are the broken ones, and
she felt as cold as ice, and
she saw all white, all around.
I have no idea where this story is going, it all started on one Sunday night when I got really, really bored... More
She looked up,
clarity in her every movement,
but sometimes the perfect things are the broken ones, and
she felt as cold as ice, and
she saw all white, all around.