i feel safe knowin members like this are workin in the FBI
Minho pulled one of his knives from a pocket and, without missing a beat, cut a big piece of ivy off the wall. He threw it on the ground behind him and kept running.
“Bread crumbs?” Thomas asked, the old fairy tale popping into his mind. Such odd glimpses of his past had almost stopped surprising him.
“Bread crumbs,” Minho replied. “I’m Hansel, you’re Gretel.”
I no longer have a hole that I need to fill by sharing my story with others. I have no need to tell people my pain. I am content to keep it to myself, and to keep myself sane.
There are things I think I will never really be comfortable talking about and there are secrets I will never tell
Fake Pockets: A How To
There’s a certain art to being unnoticeable.