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INNERMOONS ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ 𓃠 ONE / UNITED IN GRIEF
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❛ i've been goin' through somethin' one thousand, eight hundred and 55 days ❜
𓃠
❪ TELL THEM. TELL EM. TELL THEM THE TRUTH. ❫
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❪ i've been going through something BE AFRAID. ❫
𝕿here was no refuge from the heat, not even beneath the brittle shade cast by the Princeton banners straining against the restless wind, their sharp orange letters screaming legacy, tradition, expectation. The sun hung mercilessly overhead, a pale, indifferent eye watching from a sky too vast, too blue, indifferent to the smallness of the bodies moving below. The tennis court was a blistering expanse of hard green, its lines drawn with the kind of precision that suggested borders—territories to conquer, spaces to own. The white paint gleamed under the sun's relentless glare, sharp as bone against flesh. The stands groaned with bodies—students with sunburned cheeks, parents clutching bottled water like talismans, scouts with their clipboards and narrowed eyes, looking for perfection dressed in sweat and grit. But Parker Crawford didn't see any of them. Not really. They were noise. Background.
