𝗅𝖺𝗁𝗎 𝗆𝗎𝗇𝗁 𝗅𝖺𝗀 𝗀𝖺𝗒𝖺. 𝙞 '𝙫𝙚 𝙩𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙤𝙙 𝙤𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙡𝙞𝙥𝙨.

You and me; let us pretend we 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙂𝙊𝘿𝙎. Life will slowly kill us due to its sickening noise. But your 𝙖𝙧𝙢𝙨, your 𝙚𝙮𝙚𝙨, your 𝙠𝙞𝙨𝙨, might make me feel 𝙄𝙢𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙩𝙖𝙡.

—

i care for you still and i will forever, that was my part of the deal, honest

if you’re raised with an angry man in your house, there will always be an angry man in your house. you will find him even when he is not there. and if one day you find that there is no angry man in your house—well, you will go find one and invite him in.

Guitar chord screams and bass drum growls. In another life she was a musician. The electric feedback is jarring and familiar. An old tune is plucked as the Bard’s song echoes through the tunnels.

“Which ones that? I do yoga but I don’t remember that salutation…”

One of a few.

Dusty bones is talkative tonight. Displeasure is easily detected in the low granite rasp of his voice — a tone older than time, a timbre deeper than graves. “You said that was the last one.” Blood stains her face, catching on her lips. “I lied.”

“It can’t rain all the time.”

lack of inhibition works wonders in revealing every demon

Does he have a favorite, she wonders. The melancholic musings of a man must start to sound the same after a while? Or was each song just as unique as the emotions that drove them?