Soledad.
The ceiling was sad and white. Bone-white with those scrapes, upturned flakes and coal-black holes. It was sad and white.
Soledad's just drawing a story, just to fill up the hole in her chest, a story with three legs to stand on, three people who made it a story.
But is it really?
Soledad's just drawing a story, just to fill up the hole in her chest, a story with three legs to stand on, three people who made it a story.
But is it really?
-
The Line Broke.
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