An inkwell was all that was needed to tell you that the words spilling from my mouth were not lies.
They were the hard, bitter truths that we all had to face.
Each one, giving a different wound and each wound turning into a different scar.
The only thing that wasn't different was that we survived.
Didn't we?
YOU ARE READING
Pieces
RandomWell what do we have here? These are bits and parts of stories that I thought of, but could never actually write a book about. (Big thanks to @Darkness_is_Within for making the cover for the story! Check her account out, you won't be disappointed)
