deliroll12
I walked into my mother's room, a small girl with a big fear.
"What is it? She asked, her brown eyes smiling.
"Madre, am I adopted?"
"No, you have hair just like your Padre's."
I looked at the dozen children on my doorstep, looking at me expectantly.
"I'm sorry," I heard myself say, even though my heart was melting at the sight of them. "I don't buy girls scout cookies." They all sighed and began to walk to the neighbors. Why do these children always come to my doorstep? Never bother the lady who's forty and still single.
writing since 2011 · 53 entries · 53 days shown up
each square is a day—lit means Deliah showed up.
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53days written
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the words Deliah reaches for
stepssatbeautifulsighedtearslovefalleyesmakingfacechildrenpastringnearsometimesdark