Time collapsed into a delicate dark pencil brushed against oureyebrows, the emergent rumble of crowds gathering above our heads. Weslid into our costumes. Pirate, outlaw, futuristic rebels. Red,purple, gold. Chains hanging from our belts, tight...
But sometimes the scars go too deep and the stories are too personal to share.
This city is yawning before me, but I’m not tired.
Why can’t a girl just want to know stuff and not do stuff?