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I love them. I fucking hate them. I want them. I never ever want to see them again.
She punched her fists into my chest and wrapped her fingers around my heart and squeezed. She’s reignited feelings that I’ve long since buried. Right there in front of me, she just danced for her goddamn life and I saw her clearly for the first time since returning. I saw her. Kid. My Kid. She was afraid, angry, and utterly fucking breathtaking. And now this dick, this fucking prick, put his hands on her. No! No fucking way! Not again. Not again. NOT AGAIN. The only person who has the right to touch her is us. She’s fucking ours. Ours. Our Pen. Our lucky penny�
Love is chaotic, agonizing, complex. It’s like DNA, no one really knows the depths of its power or can unravel its mysteries. Love is just there, it’s something that exists and we’re all just a bunch of people either looking for love, are in love, or are heartbroken without it, because of it.
“Dancing with you is a gift, Pen. Loving you an inevitability,�
It’s like trying to make a castle out of sand. Every time I think I’ve made something strong enough to withstand the elements, a huge waves comes along and fucking washes it away.
