The pretty, dishevelled, ones always catch my eye. That look that pulls me towards saving them&h
The pretty, dishevelled, ones always catch my eye. That look that pulls me towards saving them… but also towards breaking them further. To stroke and speak softly, or to slap and spit upon? To tell her that everything will be okay, or to show her that nothing will ever be okay again? The sweet balance between compassion and aggression never fails to excite me deep inside. Ah, the pretty ones are built for suffering… I want to take so much from them, and give them so much in return. -- source link
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