[Mary hangs her head, her hair spilling down past her shoulders at the action. Nothing about today feels right. It's like there's a big void that's just been ripped out of the space where someone that they both cared about once stood. It hasn't even been that long.]
If you were written into a book by an author, they should have given you a good ending. I'd like to read that.
[Her voice grows softer as his words hit her harder, and her thought forms on her tongue.]
Why do artists punish the the creations that they make with so much heart?
no subject
[Mary hangs her head, her hair spilling down past her shoulders at the action. Nothing about today feels right. It's like there's a big void that's just been ripped out of the space where someone that they both cared about once stood. It hasn't even been that long.]
If you were written into a book by an author, they should have given you a good ending. I'd like to read that.
[Her voice grows softer as his words hit her harder, and her thought forms on her tongue.]
Why do artists punish the the creations that they make with so much heart?