Jan 17, 2017
hxesoos.
there’s really no credible explanation as to why the boy decided to pay the playing fields a visit at two in the morning. he wants to believe that, anyway. he remembers waking up to pain, so blunt and excruciating and familiar that he had to get out. of the room, of the dorm, of his own skin. he remembers feeling as if there was something ticking in his arms, hands and legs, underneath the layers of tissue that were once ( stained ) purple and blue by the first boy he’d ever loved. and even now, as he’s pacing up and down the lanes of well-groomed grass, he thinks he’d rather bet on being fucked in the head than… the other possibility. he doesn’t miss it. he doesn’t miss it. he can’t miss the feeling of falling apart.
