It's cloudy. My hair is a dry mess on my sleepy head. A coffee to my left. The voice of my sister bouncing from the kitchen to my ears. She's so big, so stubborn, so young. And my grandmother, tired, scolds her, trying to keep her in her place.
There's suitcases all around. It's cloudy. It might rain.
I want it to rain. It's inconvenient, but I think it would cleanse the air of this foul venom. POSTED BY little girl blue ON Friday, June 28, 2013 @ 11:09 AM
