Chapter 1 will post tomorrow, 11/10 (as long as I don't chicken out)....
My hand twitches in a comfortable, practiced motion. Suddenly I’m desperate for a pen or a pencil. Her expression, so grave and desolate, is somehow beautiful to me, and I wish I had anything that would enable me to detail her pain on paper. It makes me wish I’d thought to bring my sketchbook.
To her right, a large boy clutches an umbrella over their heads. On her left, a sour faced girl holds the sad woman’s arm. Her face is fierce and determined, as if she’s trying to keep the broken woman from falling.
I can’t help but wonder who she was to him – who they were to him.
Even more, I can’t help but wonder who I was to him.
xoxo,
