He looked up only to see a face he recognized from the countless hours spent in front of mirrors and yet there was something amiss today, his senses could not figure out if he was up there looking down or was it the other way around. It was as if someone had mind fucked him into believing that the world was a large metal container and he was the basket case trapped inside.
A story is only as good as the storyteller. 19 years old. Author - The Girl From Rostov
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