An ornate and gold-edged book, of which inside are secrets even she doesn't know or understand. But tucked all through it are leaflets of paper, as if she'd rather not write in the book its self. Except on the first empty page of the book is written in exquisite, flowing penmanship her full name. ~ Lavender Cecelia Morgan.
Wednesday, 21 April 2021
Why do I do this to myself... I think I am happy, then I freak out and run... I hurt anyone who gets close to me. Perhaps it is time I just get use to the fact that I am meant to be alone.
