Your eyes burn me like a magnifying glass burns an ant in the summer sun.
Mama, how come everything I do is wrong?
So much fire from a woman so cold. 69 more words
It had been a gray day, as most memories are. The road in the front of the squalid townhouses wasn’t busy, but the cars and trucks went by quickly, whipping childhood ignorance with pebbles and wheel-thrown stones, and with a cutting breeze as we played in the small rectangular lawns, mostly weeds. 234 more words