Eleven
And there he was, sitting on your couch, showing as a reflection of the past the trash you turned into when John told you he couldn't do it anymore.
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View profileO que eu gosto:-Punk/Hardcore/Emo (gosto, vai fazer algo contra? u.ú)-Anime/Mangá/Cultura Oriental.-Fotografia-Internet-Ler/es...
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He was sure that he loved John and that John loved him. Until that new year...
The mistakes of a corrosive past but still alive, united in a look at the still happy present.
<em> Why was she still looking at the sodden sidewalk with people running around with their colorful umbrellas? </em>
<em>" John ran his fingers over one more star, prying it easily from the top, dropping it into the bag attached to his ladder." </em>
<em> And the young man's fingers ran slowly and skillfully over the thin strings of a chipped wooden guitar, with some writings, some stickers, things that denounced its extensive time of use. </em>
<em> The headphones were in his ear, but the iPod hadn't played for a while, and on the bright-light screen, the only light in the dark of the bus, an old song from what he liked to call "his band". </em>