Sitting. Staring. Tears welling. Drip. drip.

No! I can't let her see my defeat.

Swallow these tears that blur my vision.

Feelings of worthlessness fill my mind, the characters on the page melt under the liquid weight of my tears. They fall to the ground with every drop of salt, under my desk. Swirling black ink meets the dirt as I grind my dreams to mud. Black, beautiful, calligraphy mud.

If only, if would be so much easier to blame her. But I am the one at fault.


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Mfund almost 13 years ago

So true...

CharleS. (joined almost 13 years ago)

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