ShengkaiWang

I write because I can I write because I will I write what's on my mind And I write that with a quille No need for memory Or any sign of sin Just some words from my mind And here's where it begins ... I sit in a room of hurt and dispair Maybe start writing about that girl crying over there She seems so lifeless, tired and weak With long black and red hair covering her face while she weeps ... They aren't always right They aren't always true They aren't always about me Not all about you ... But they're about something I'm yet to find out what They come from my mind Sometimes from my heart ... I can write of love I can

Another Reason to Visit A Spencer Reid x Reader Story Sadness gripped you at the denial you heard within the words of your grandmother. This woman had raised you and your sister as her own, given you a place in life and yet was so convinced that her long widowed husband still spoke at her side that she had forgotten what had happened to her parents and to him. Explaining was useless but you were glad that at least she still remembered you and your sister. Sometimes looking at or hearing the words of others in this place made you anxious and uncertain. You were not scared of the other patients of course, but what they “could” do