|
|
|
I hate crayons. Yellow, pink, black, green. It doesn’t matter.
|
|
|
|
It doesn’t matter. You’ve heard of my “type”. You know the deal.
|
|
|
|
Inner melt, outer composure.
|
|
|
|
They lead me back to the same “happy” place. Yeah, right.
|
|
|
|
“Velvet, what the heck are you doing with your life?”
|
|
|
|
I sort of gape at the wall and then will myself into uttering a squeak
|
|
|
|
“Allow me.” He slowly opens the door ushering me inside.
|
|
|
|
Chance was giving me room to breathe.
|
|
|
|
We simply sat in silence waiting for the doctor’s words.
|
|
|
|
My grandparents love Chance.
|
|
|
Offline
View Pictures 
My Artwork
Send a Message
Add to Friends
Block User
Views (159)
Created on 9-18-07
