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ᅠ ᅠ ᅠ ᅠ ᅠ ᅠ 𝑔𝑜𝑑𝑙𝑒𝑠𝑠 𐂂𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶ♱
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ᅠ ᅠ ᅠ ᅠ ᅠ ᅠ 𝑔𝑜𝑑𝑙𝑒𝑠𝑠 𐂂𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶ♱
@lastgrve
ᅠ ᅠ ᅠ i ᅠ ᅠ think ᅠ ᅠ i’m ᅠᅠᅠ gonna ᅠ ᅠ ᅠ ᅠ𝕯𝐈𝐄 ᅠ ᅠ ᅠ ᅠ in ᅠ ᅠ this ᅠ ᅠ 𝐻𝑂𝑈𝑆𝐸 ᅠ ᅠ╋━
mdni. highly selective. Beigetreten Ekim 2024
15 Folgt1 Follower
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“ i can’t tell you how sorry i am ,” southern accent cracks in the middle , fighting away the salty tears threatening to spill over , “ but i’m here now . i ain’t goin’ nowhere else .”
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nothin’ has changed that .”
while his feelings for her have remained , strong as they ever were , he’s different now . colder , harder , with a bleaker outlook on life . he lost everything , but he won’t lose her . never again . »
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to see her as broken as she is , it hurts him worse than any other sin he’d committed . towering frame drops down onto the ground with her , his hands still reaching out to take a firm only on her face .
“ delilah farrow , i love you . »
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͏ ͏ ʳᵃᵇᵇⁱᵗ ͏ ͏𝚑𝑒a͟𝑟𝑡. ͏ @frstgrave
it is grief masquerading as hatred: an ugly, wretched thing that stains her mouth with cruelty. “you left me, you left me here alone! i waited for you,” until mould had consumed the walls and the stench of her mothers corpse finally …
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trying to get a firm but not aggressive grasp on her face , fingers curling into a familiar spot right where her jaw meets her ears .
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his voice , once chipper and full of wonder and curiosity , now tainted with a gruffness that’s acclimated to his vocal chords over the last several months . the harshness of winter didn’t help much .
“ i came back for you ,” he repeats , »
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he knows he deserves just this; the anguish and first steps toward hatred from her . he knows what he’s done to her , something that might never be properly fixed . but he lets his arms fall open , palms facing upward while she rages . »
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͏ ͏ ʳᵃᵇᵇⁱᵗ ͏ ͏𝚑𝑒a͟𝑟𝑡. ͏ @frstgrave
there is no warmth upon his return, no open arms that welcome him back into existence, only delilah: standing wide-eyed and as fragile as the day he disappeared; beyond that familiar facade of fragility, stirs a grief that will surely …
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along toward the front door , taking notice that not much has changed . about this house , at least . he’s changed , lord has he changed . he wonders if del has too . @frstgrave
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an old rust—bucket of a pick up truck shifts into park , the stillness settling into his bones . he hasn’t seen this house in months , nor the woman he knows still resides within it . exiting the truck’s cab , mud—caked boots trek —
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booker keaton , once a devout farm boy and eldest of eight , now living a nomadic lifestyle after the 𝑚𝑦𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑜𝑢𝑠 murder of his parents . mdni . highly selective .
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