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I'M STRUGGLING TO FIGURE OUT WHO I AM, CHAINED BY THIS FEAR INSIDE
and i'm being drawn to you.
◠◠• • • ◠◠◠• • • ◠◠◠• • • ◠◠◠• • • ◠â—Â
Brendon sat elegantly against a small brick wall, patches of drying
grass behind him and a few small, almost barren trees. It was cold
this Saturday morning, the wind blowing along through the somewhat
crowded streets. It whipped around his robes playfully, as well as
his soft chocolate hair, sending his bangs into his eyes. He was
constantly having to brush them aside… again and again… a light
frown set upon his features.
His mother stood a handful of feet away from him where she conversed
with an older looking, chubby, man who was selling produce at his
stand. She was smiling, looking so elegant and beautiful… so serene
and calm. The sixteen year old had always wished he could have been
more like his mother. But, he didn’t have an elegant or calm bone
in his body.
The way he absently, nervously, fiddled with the long sleeves of his
robe was definitely not elegant and poised. His hair was not long
and pretty like his mother’s—b-but then, he was a man and… and he
wasn’t supposed to have long and pretty hair. The realization of
his thoughts embarrassed him and he quickly began fidgeting more
with his sleeves as he stared, intently, down at the brick lain roads.
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- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
I'M STRUGGLING TO FIGURE OUT WHO I AM, CHAINED BY THIS FEAR INSIDE
and i'm being drawn to you.
◠◠• • • ◠◠◠• • • ◠◠◠• • • ◠◠◠• • • ◠â—Â
Brendon sat elegantly against a small brick wall, patches of drying
grass behind him and a few small, almost barren trees. It was cold
this Saturday morning, the wind blowing along through the somewhat
crowded streets. It whipped around his robes playfully, as well as
his soft chocolate hair, sending his bangs into his eyes. He was
constantly having to brush them aside… again and again… a light
frown set upon his features.
His mother stood a handful of feet away from him where she conversed
with an older looking, chubby, man who was selling produce at his
stand. She was smiling, looking so elegant and beautiful… so serene
and calm. The sixteen year old had always wished he could have been
more like his mother. But, he didn’t have an elegant or calm bone
in his body.
The way he absently, nervously, fiddled with the long sleeves of his
robe was definitely not elegant and poised. His hair was not long
and pretty like his mother’s—b-but then, he was a man and… and he
wasn’t supposed to have long and pretty hair. The realization of
his thoughts embarrassed him and he quickly began fidgeting more
with his sleeves as he stared, intently, down at the brick lain roads.
◠◠• • • ◠◠◠• • • ◠◠◠• • • ◠◠◠• • • ◠◠</div>