The beauty of mending the broken things are impeccable. Let it be the the machines or bonds. Mending is the most beautiful thing in the world. My father always taught me to repair the faulty machines and vehicles but my Mom, she always taught me to mend broken relationships and broken people. And how ironic it is, that the one who always mended others is now broken himself. The fear, anger and sorrow is engulfing half of my life. I miss my family.
The loneliness of my apartment kills me. The darkness inside me doesn't dissipate even with the lights and the urge of having someone, someone to love, intensified. The urge to have my family again, intensified.
"Should I be surprised that my Garage is tending to the Italy's most vicious and dangerous Mafia's truck?" Lucia asked, crossing her
