Nothing but Sam So my name is Sam, and I'm just sitting here in this chair. The window, or if you could call it that, rotten and most likely filled with termites, sits in front of me. Its built within this old farm house that I was forced to spend my, “oh so loving” childhood days in. This room has nothing in it. By nothing, I mean me. Sam.Nothing but Sam by *intoxicatingwords07
Though its odd, because even though I'm nothing, I'm still Sam. Which doesn't make sense. Names, that's what it is. Names don't make sense, how does life expect me to be nothing if I still have my name?
I stand up from that uncomfortable wooden rocking chair, take a swig of this delicious hot chocolate in my right hand and walk towards the window. I look down at my drink, its cold. Why did I forget that I had been holding it? Why was I even drinking hot chocolate if it was the middle of summer anyways? Maybe because it taste good, who knows. Why am I even spending so much time thinking about a liquid? Why am I even thinki