After I read the poem that compares the woman's hands to flowers and rain, I put the book down and went to the window. I stared at my reflection and the trees behind it for a long time. Not thinking anything. Not feeling anything. Not hearing the record. For hours. Something really is wrong with me. And I don't know what it is.
Thursday, October 25, 2012
The Perks of Being a Wallflower - Pg 137
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