Читать книгу Broken Reflections - Geneva Ayala - Страница 11

but each day it would rain, washing away all the dirt,—covering the resentment, the agony and the hurt. forgetting that she bared the blood marks on her shirt,—everyone still knew so what she had done didn’t work. all her efforts went down the drain, like the tears from her eyes, like the blood from her veins.