She already had the pen. Held onto it as tight as possible as he continued to talk - ramble, really - about them. Two of kind. The same but opposite in every way that really mattered. She kept remembering how hard the seat had been at her father's funeral, how it had dug into her backside, almost distracting her from Peter's eulogy. Kept
(
Read more... )
Comments 2
Reply
Reply
Leave a comment