Every time I find something I love it feels as if my heart is ripped out of my very soul, the two left to scream and writhe in agony, meant to be together. And when it ends, my heart is returned, a little less hollow, but more broken, more cracked, and my soul can only hold it, and try to love it again. This is the danger of love.
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Stories by The Lonely Owl
It never has to end
{Why can't she be perfect? Why is everything so difficult now? She should be perfect}
Rumi ansgt
TW; Blood, m...
The morning before
The day before.
The night before.
The morning before.
(Polytrix and Rumi ansgt)
Percabeth// Where we are
Annabeth was... something alright.
She was popular, confident, smart, happy(?). Who wouldn't want to be her...