And then she said “So…is there any chance you want to come home to hang out with me and magic?”
She gets nervous staying in our house alone, and she just dropped my parents off at the airport. I love being a big sister.
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gutterxflower posted this
When we die, these are the stories still on our lips. The stories we'll only tell strangers, some place private in the padded cell of midnight. These important stories, we rehearse them for years in our head but never tell. These stories are ghosts, bringing people back from the dead. Just for a moment. For a visit. Every story is a ghost.
Christi.
Chicago.
Rock&Roll.
Pianist.
50's.
23.
Roseanne.
Reader&Writer.
Out of my damn mind.
I dig chicks with nose rings and lipstick that will leave a mark.
Same for guys, hold the lipstick.
