I am four days behind, but I don’t care, I will write what I can and when I can. The funny thing is that what I wrote the other day happened in real life afterwards. Remember me walking at the beach, going into the café and meeting a man with red hair? Well, it happened last Sunday. I was at the beach, it was windy and the guy at the café had red hair. He was much taller than the one from my story and he was married and with two children. He didn’t order tea though. He was much more fancy and ordered a cappuccino. His hair was an unknown land, very textured and of beautiful tint. His blue eyes were a nice contrast to it. But nothing ever happened. Both stories are fictional and much more down to earth than the reader imagines. Both stories aren’t stories at all. Just a fragment of my memory.
February Fiction (Eleven, Twelve, Thirteen, Fourteen)
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