| Written by Diana, on 11-09-2001 03:10 |
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Not one of the girls remembered my birthday, though i had remembered their's, flowers every year. I had known them for five long years but my mother said i was being selfish, if so then what's the point of friendship? A year of yelling and tears, slammed doors and family therapy, years of problems never solved. Now she's just a memory, a road bump in the past, never more will I see her angry face, never again will I have to hear her disappointed voice.
(college poetry assignment)
Last update: 20-12-2006 20:27
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