bethbrim0804
In the given hours of the morning, most people hear the alarm and go about their daily routine. In my case, I roll over and hit the alarm to make it be quiet and hope to continue the dreaming I was dreaming. In most cases, I pass out for a few more moments until the alarm attacks again with the indescribable hatred for the hours of sleep.
Wrenched apart with the words said and thoughts left unsaid. The times left to tear apart with the desire to mend. But the wrenching lives as a reminder of the days that cannot be repaired, though the wrench can repair: it tears apart more than anything.
writing since 2011 · 3 entries · 2 days shown up
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