What was a mistake? Her coming, or everything? Confused and emotionally compromised, I resort to rocking back and forth again as my tears stain my shirt.
I'm never what I like I'm double sided And I just can't hide I kind of like it When I make you cry 'Cause I'm twisted up, twisted up Inside
Once he falls back asleep, I put him back and glance around before floating out of the room. I glance at the necklace Luce gave me for Christmas before shaking my head and take it off my body before floating back upstairs. I set it on his nightstand before floating down, glancing around the kitchen.
All you need is faith, trust, and a little bit of pixie-dust!
My body somehow materializes and I drop to the ground, something sprouting from my back. Wings. White angel wings. My skin stays pale and my lips turn bright red. I pass uncontious. Afterlife.
All you need is faith, trust, and a little bit of pixie-dust!
Surround yourself with people who are serious about being writers, and who will tell you, ‘Hey—you can do better than this.’ Who will be critical of your work, but also supportive. And who will not be competitive in a negative way. — Isabel Quintero
