He will only be a story that I tell my daughter when her heart gets broken the same way mine did. He will only will be a story that I tell my daughter when she is pining over some who breaks her the way he broke me. He will only be a story that my daughter will hear as a way to grow, and know that she will be okay. He will only be a story.
me: man I love being queer, so glad im not straight or cis, love my acceptance of myself, and yea it may be hard but we live in a progressing age and there is a lot more community and support for people like me and it finally feels ok to love myself and embrace who I am
some punks: look at this radikweer transtrender who thinks they’re one of us, sweety ur cis and straight :)) unless you’re suffering constantly you’re not a real queer :) real queers hate themselves and their bodies at all times :)))
The last sounds of twilight humming amid the fallen leaves and brush began to recede back into their burrows and thickets, leaving only the sound of your breathing in the early dawn. The air sat heavy around you, your hands steady as you watched from a distance, back through the thick forest of trees that hid you from view.
You watched the lights in the windows darken one by one, the sounds of the house falling quiet as the sun slowly crept up the horizon. The first rays of daylight began to break through the trees, glinting on the blade of the angel sword at your side; your fingers wrapped tightly around the grip.
You were a being of silence and swift action in your hunt, taking down your prey before they ever knew what had fallen on their trail. You were deadly both with a weapon and without, set to destroy the marks of evil that crept from the dark crags of hell.
You remained invisible to the world, keeping to the shadows as you hunted; remaining the legend, the myth. The last of the Nephilim.