the beauty of anxiety.
This place is for the dead, not the living...
not my finest work. it feels, perhaps, rushed. not particularly inspired by anything, save for a short story I wrote eight years ago.
"I know you're a creep, but this is a little much don't you think? " I huffed, blowing my dark hair out of my eyes as we effortlessly made our way up the trail in the dark, gripping onto Hugo's hand e...
This place is for the dead, not the living...
not my finest work. it feels, perhaps, rushed. not particularly inspired by anything, save for a short story I wrote eight years ago.
"I know you're a creep, but this is a little much don't you think? " I huffed, blowing my dark hair out of my eyes as we effortlessly made our way up the trail in the dark, gripping onto Hugo's hand e...