WMill the portrait of my life be deduced to a candid pose of me bending to pinch my love handles and reaching to paint my toes?isogyny haunts me when I stretch the corners of my mouth, tuck the skin under my chin, and wrap my hands around my thighs.
Maka in his full – even when unturned – lycanthrope glory is more obvious than ever with her resting her head in the crook of his bare arm, sturdy enough to be a table in its own right.
It think I’ve finally reached the final stage of emotional detachment, we made it, and somehow... it feels good.odos, te querés ir de mi vida? buenísimo, no querés hablarme más? excelente, te enojaste conmigo? te felicito)