Tell me a truth, Senna.""I don't know how," I breath."Then tell me a lie.""I don't love you," I say. I sink beneath the weight of it all.Isaac stirs behind me, and then he is leaning over me, his elbo...
That's why writers write—to say things loudly with ink. To give feet to thoughts; to make quiet, still feelings loudly heard.
There is a string that connects us that is not visible to the eye. Maybe every person has more than one soul they are connected to, and all over the world there are these invisible strings. Maybe the...
