She remained seated, her paint dried up, her four cigarette buds lying in their ashes listening to music she used to dub as "ghost songs". She watched the stillness of her paint brushes as they lay motionless in murky water. With one thought running in her mind "Do you think that writers are all sad or that all sad people write?"
What do you think?
Both perhaps
ReplyDeleteLoved this btw xx
ReplyDelete