i was mistaken
In the fading light, a passerby could have mistaken her pain stricken smile for a joyful one.
It was a kind of warm sticky. My mouth was dry in my were hands trembling.
“Tabby!” I called beginning to stress. The wind nipped at my plaid scarf as my toes turned numb.
My theory on hurt is that it fills up and stores itself away because it knows that when the...