Perhaps I’ve never understood the concepts of the human soul.
I’ve stared at that strikethrough for the longest of time, and it may 99% be pure coincidence, but stubbornness clings to the remaining 1%, that maybe, just maybe, it was fated destiny.
I don’t believe it. As though ink could reproduce itself and perfect itself into the form my eyes perceive, but holding a completely different intended meaning.
What was that for? Why does it matter anyway?
Next stop, dead hearts.
Brace yourself – the pain may be excruciating.
; 