vendredi 15 août 2008

Essay


She was siting on her wooden chair, gazing an obscur spot on her room's white walls. She would never admit she was thinking of him again, nor she would agree on the fact that waiting for his call at this time of the night was not only foolish but nearer to something more frightening, something closer to madness.

Still, she was. Perhaps if that would have been the only thing she was yearning for, she could have coped with it. But there was another call she was awaiting, and since she couldn't rely at all on her reason at this time of the night, there were only faith and prayers left in her fussy mind. And those, as proven many times before, weren't making a good blend.

Some would have said she was just...

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To be continued...

2 commentaires:

Onique a dit…

agace! ya pas de fin a cette histoire la?! jveux savoir la suite, moi!

William Drouin a dit…

La fin de l'histoire c'est qu'elle s'en va vivre en Ontario pour pouvoir parler en anglais librement.
lol...