I just spent way too much time listening to the audio post below this one. The song Wayward Son fills me with so much emotion, and imagining Dean Winchester crying to it is only more woeful and beautiful to me, which is a peculiar way to describe and feel about that. There is this kind of beauty in breakable things.
That’s our condition, though, isn’t it? Breakable things.
I can see the beauty in that.
I'm just another wallflower in a sea of bright faces. If you really want to know something about me, the best thing to do is ask.
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