READ Tle of the field. Carter was still not back. I felt even more lonely.
Empty.
I sighed.
It was 3 in the afternoon and he sky was dark.
I leaned to the trunk of the tree and looked at the palms of my hands. I observed them. Being drawn into the lines of my palms I remembered what my mother said when I was young, "Alice, look at your hand, you have the same pattern as mine. They once told me that people with these kind of lines will grow happy and content with their lives.", I can't help but snort at that. Happy, she said. Contented, she said. But now look at her. She's far from what she told me. Lies. Lies everywhere.
Why am I even laughing, maybe I would also be like her. Be miserable in my own skin. Even loving myself feels tiring now. How could I be happy when I can't even come
