#worldsuniter

did u rly betray me

siS HELP

“What happened? Who do I have to hit--”

manachosen replied to your post: What in god’s name did she just stumble into…

KISSES HER CHEEK TOO!!!!!!1

“?????????!?!??!!??”

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

There was never any telling how people would react to stray words shared with them. They were a harder concept to focus on when the one who spoke them was a perfect stranger, wafting from one place to the next without a real definitive goal in mind. The wafting sometimes warped the outward appearance in quite a significant way. Words shared by someone pressed clean and pristine was one thing, words spoken by a dirty and marred figure, scarred with the evidence of violent hardship was, well, that was something else entirely. That was something easier to shrug away, to pass on, to ignore for the sake of keeping hold of the familiar instead.

It was far easier to despise than to embrace with knowledge and respect. To fill in the gaps of ignorance took effort that not many people possessed any longer. And they could not be held accountable. Their world was a hard one, full of its unpredictability. To purposely interpose themselves on the life of another was a complication few would adopt.

The concept of humanity was, by itself, far too complex a theory to attach words of a conventional variety. It was composed of far too many beliefs intertwined into one, a dizzying array of personal perspective and state of being. Humanity was more than simply a conscious, intelligent mind. 

He was very surprised, very pleased to hear the boy work steadily through his feelings of the words he gave to him, spoken without the complications of an expansion of his own intentions or commentary on how he should view it instead. Words were meant to be interpreted. Not dragged out blatant and bold. The boy did not silently reflect. He verbalized it all aloud, whatever it was that sprang into mind, whether or not it was disjointed. He worked it through, relating it to his own perspective of the dangers he faced and adopting it. He made the words his own in a unique and fascinating way. 

He listened with the utmost sincerity, closing his eyes, as though to shut off the implications the world would give to mar what it was he was hearing. He wanted it to come to him unimpeded, without risk of contamination or the fear that sometimes stemmed from being watched so critically. Even if it were by the one who spoke the words to begin with.

He would have to say, he’d never before witnessed such a promising thing!

It was a refreshing start to a fair interaction.

“Another broken remnant of a person, that I am. A shattered pot can be put back together, but it will never be the same. Cracks will render its surface a different shape, and pieces will be missing, impossible to add to the whole. Fractured segments lay scattered out of reach. A hole exists where once there radiated warmth. Some days will be hard but it doesn’t have to be like that all the time. Not if you don’t let it. It can stand and thus, can withstand.” That was the truth. 

“You sound a lot like me when I was young, that you do! Those with strength, those with the power to endure, they have the responsibility to protect the souls who were not graced with the same privileges. Do you not think so?” Some would call that a weak reception to skill. Some would adamantly disagree that they owed anything to the world after their hard work and perseverance. They did not consider the idea that one day in the past they were once vulnerable in a world stronger than they. They were given a chance to transcend past what was expected, past the potential inevitability of them falling to a stronger entity, to become what they did eventually. Others deserved the same opportunity. Even if they couldn’t become something more, they still had something to offer the world.

�� follow ur dreams

worldsuniter replied to your post:

�� �� �� let’s all cry about symphonia

             This is a tale 

        Of the girl who grew up 

     With her heart locked in a cage 

             This is a s t o r y 

       Of the boy who held the key 

       In the warmth of his s m i l e 

 They were happy. 

         They were pure. 

                   They were in love.

                                        && then he was gone. 

                   He left nothing behind —

                           save for his (memory). 

                   She wept — how had she forgotten? 

                                        That all good things 

                    Would always come 

IS IT HER ADOPTIVE BROTHER

EMILIO