Luaren Walters

  • Luaren Walters
    Published 4 months ago
    Tragic childhood

    Tragic childhood

    Cold drops of rain are sliding down the car window. Pattering on the roof from the fairy like drops. My nose is dripping from the cold. My fingers feel as if I’m wearing gloves made of frost. Tears roll down my cheeks as if in the same pattern of the rain. No words to give just silent breath’s. No body will ask how I am or what is wrong.