The countdown starts, words get stuck.
'Awbrey doesn't confuse me' she said, and tears watered the beautiful garden of her eyes but it didn't spill, she kept it tidy, as he crumbled and fell in front of her.
Thousand pieces, 11 Minutes, eternity kept moving.
Anger really is only ever directed at yourself. At your own incapbilities and weaknesses. The disgusting parts. The things you never talk about, that you swallow down, that you bury so nobody else can find them and speak them and stab them into your flesh.
My heart, still pumping. Thoughts flash through my mind like electrical signals in a forlorn ice cold night.
Why is it always so cold in Santa Monica.
If I get ever angry at you again, remind me to pack my suitcases and leave.
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