Lonely and lost, I knew I had to leave, even though I didn’t know where I was headed. Driving without a purpose, I let the roads lead. I was just a shell of my former self, devoid of feelings. Hoping I’d find the missing pieces of myself along the way. Then I saw him —those menacing deep brown eyes, and an air around him that was formidable. I knew that picking up a hitchhiker was a dangerous thing to do, but I was desperate. Desperate for what, you ask? To feel.
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Stacy Borel
7 Livros
2 Seguidores