My fingers dialed his
number as fast as I could.
The tears were glistening, and
my voice quivered as my
heart and brain fought.
"Hi. It's Charlie-"
"Charlie, I need to see you.
Please. I-I I don't know what
to do. I got a letter. And it's.
And I just. Charlie, please."
"Please leave me a voicemail
and I will call you as soon
as I can. Thank you."
"No, no, Charlie," I hanged
up and gasped for air.
"Oh, my God, I can't do this."
I squeezed my head in between
my palms as I felt the letters ringing
throughout the rooms.
It felt like all of the oxygen in
the world had evaporated into
a deep black hole of nothingness.
My heart struggled to beat and
my brain felt the aching pressure
of pain, numbing its abilities of
rationalization.
It was one of these moments
in which all of my thorns wanted
to be covered by red paint, hoping
to disguise themselves as petals,
because the pain they inflict is
unbearable.
ŞİMDİ OKUDUĞUN
shades of red
Şiirwhen you have too many thorns, all you can do is paint them in red, because, maybe then, they will look like petals [sequel to shades of blue]
