Anette Liliane Desrosiers.
Eighteen years old.
Senior.
Worker at Off the Page.
Eighteen years old.
Senior.
Worker at Off the Page.
Luke sat on the floor Indian style. Man, he really moved around a lot. Oh well, it was his flat anyway.
“Just you know…like you can’t be sure what your true personality is…so you just accept it.” he asked. Sometimes, he thinks and over analyzes too much for his own good. Being in a repressed and strict orphanage almost made him ignorant to the world. He had to learn everything on his own, he figured that if grown-ups can’t teach him. He might as well teach himself.
She chewed on his lower lip before letting out a sigh, the air from her mouth bouncing against her thumbs. She didn’t have many friends ever since she moved here, actually, close to none, so… what… what exactly was she like? “I guess… I’m not really sure who I really am. I haven’t really had a friend since I moved here.” Anette softly said, her voice close to a mumble, the harshness of reality hitting her.
(Source: cali-anette)
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