Pfft, aren’t you optimistic,” my mouth twists into an ugly grimace as I clench my fists. My throat dries from the rushed breathing as my vision blurs, tears drying, my blood pounds in my ears. “Thinking as if this shit storm will ever blow over. Everyone’s got their scars and stories. This is yours.”Though I’ll always be haunted, memories always resurface.
~ Jocelyn White
