Tag: Heart

Tale 339 ~Virgil, To B Apart~

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“I know you were right, I can’t be fixed.” Tell that to Virgil. He got stuck with broken me. Is it good that I’m nuts because he doesn’t have any? Jokes aren’t getting us any closer. And Braxton’s further away. Women… Ha-Ha. “Virgil, To B Apart”

Tuesday, June 4, 2024

Tale 339 ~Virgil, To B Apart~

Dear Future Wife,
You know that I love you, right… But those three little words, “I Love You,” are so far apart some days, love.

And I’m trying to figure out how to push them back together every day. Somehow. Taking Braxton’s ashes, with a bit of his fur and whatever else he left of himself, isn’t going to bring him back to me. Ladders can only go so high. Or how low I would have to go. That would be easier. But I’m still picking up the pieces of my broken heart. This mess

Those pieces are stopping me from finding the way to Hell. And looking into those pieces, do you know what I see? All the parts of this existence I love. Again, my love, I try.

But I’m no good with fixing things around the house. I couldn’t fix Braxton. What about our marriage? Not broken

Love has so many new parts now. Gigantic! A big, big love! Did I say that out loud? I can’t be that far gone when I want even more babies. If you’re up for that, my love. And isn’t that the whole point of existence? I believe that love is the answer. You know. Ha-Ha.

More to the point, the meaning of life… Seek out a kingdom “Worthy of Your Soul.” OK, I’ll turn the music off. But it’s a part of who I am. Only there are bigger parts. Um, well, you know that Baby Girl. OK, I’ll stop. But you would rather have me revved up than crying.

But I cried the whole time. Doesn’t matter had… relations.

Lies and jokes, my love…

I’m trying to find more parts of myself to help build us. And then there’s B III—boy, dog, son.

I want him to see from Heaven, The Rainbow Bridge, or wherever he ended up. My love, I need an existence so big that… What, he’ll find his way back? He’ll see my kept promise?

If I could love you, our family, and even Virgil so much, somehow, I could find my way into Heaven or build one for us. It takes so much. There are so many moving parts.

I have to get moving and start finding those parts. Lest Braxton and I, you and I, Virgil and I never find our way together. Humpty Dumpty. Fix. Even it out. Virgil, To B Apart

1220 Days Without B III, Day 661 of Virgil’s Arrival

B.L.M. Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will

Tale 338 ~Height And Weight, Equally Evil~

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The question once wasn’t a man or a bear. There were two questions. How tall are you? And how much do you weigh? The reactions while I’m all, “Whether short or tall, we wanna thank you all for letting us… (do stuff).” Height And Weight, Equally Evil.

Monday, June 3, 2024

Tale 338 ~Height And Weight, Equally Evil~

Three-Hundredth And Forty-Sixth Rule

Madam Justice
Rules are made to be broken… And some don’t need to be talked about. Or I’m not in the mood. In the mood…

A woman once asked me if I always carry that… “lovin’ feelin’.” The truth is, yes, Ma’am, even in the face of the unbearable loss of my son, Braxton. There were 161 days of emptiness. I tried “filling” that void with OnlyFans, and then one evening, looking at Chloë Grace Moretz, I… (Cue Homer drool).

She’s as old as Cherry. And the thing is this. I would do precisely the same thing with them both, Madam. How you like that! But it’s better to keep my hands on the keyboard.

As I mentioned, I’m not in the mood, but I’m a hypocrite. Since my indifference led to my son’s departure to The Rainbow Bridge, I Feel Everything. I’m constantly battling with anger, sadness, and a strange mix of emotions. Things that make Pretty, pretty girls go… Eww! Rage, Depression, Lust…

Please, Madam, which is good, that makes the others evil.

Why is it okay to indulge in one and not the other? Like the unnamed narrator of Andrew Davidson’s novel, The Gargoyle, “I am an equal opportunity misanthropist.” That’s okay.

But amid this paradox, in this day and age, to quote George Orwell’s book Animal Farm, ‘All animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others.’ However, instead of delving into politics, societal issues, or my insignificance… I choose to focus on my two boys. Friend and Freeloader…

Braxton and Virgil are both my boys. But Braxton was/is my son. Virgil’s here, Madam. Even at 660 days, I don’t know what to make of him. But Little B III is frozen in time.

Always and forever, I’m his Dad. But a dog owner…

So let’s talk about me. If a girl asks my height, she’s allowed to do so. If I ask her weight, I’m rude. But I would do the same thing to Piper Niven as to Roxanne Perez. Now, if I could have them both… I know I need to stop, Madam. “Oh, there ain’t no rest for the wicked.” But what makes me wicked? Who says that about me? Do you want a list? Ha!

If people want me gone, that’s okay. But if I agree, suddenly, I need help.

If I have money, I’m a player; without it, I’m a per… Anyway, if I want everything, I’m greedy. If I want nothing… I am. Height And Weight, Equally Evil

“A Man Chooses, A Slave Obeys” ― Andrew Ryan, Bioshock

1219 Days Without B III, Day 660 of Virgil’s Arrival

B.L.M. Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will

Tale 332 ~ They’ll B Things, Virgil~

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Tell me that I could have Braxton back, and what thing would I give up. The phone, my por… my relationship collection. How about having an Enormous… uh. Well, I’m sure the Future Wife would miss that. But They’ll B Things, Virgil

Tuesday, May 28, 2024

Tale 332 ~ They’ll B Things, Virgil~

Dear Future Wife,
You know that I love you, right… I love you. Much like “I am happy.” Such words do not come cheap or…

At all. When was the last time I told Braxton I love him? I’ve been more inclined to talk about time travel. Today’s Tuesday, May 21, 2024. By now, it’s been 1213 days without him.

And how many days since there’s been no word about him? I’m sure I screwed up somewhere down the line. It’s why his bed, toys, bowls, medicine, and comfy spots remain. My son’s things. I’m still mad about the very floor he once walked. Flooded. I wore glasses that finally gave up the ghost and broke. So now it’s like I have to see things as brand new. Even the DISH Network service he watched is gone. Yet another humiliation.

Watching wrestling and “other” things. The secrets I’ve tried keeping.

Not that I miss Braxton. Or that Virgil and I haven’t bonded in 654 days. How about the fact that our marriage, my love…? You and me, always and forever. Nothing changes that. How about the fact that I miss my Braxton so much? It makes me want you more.

It’s Physical Touch, Touch Starvation, Touch Deprivation, or my favorite, “Skin Hunger.” But I’ve said, “Everybody know I’m a… monster.” Zombie from S. Wolf’s novel.

And I believe I’ve had a revelation, my love. You know the things I want to do to you, baby girl. “I Want’a Do Something Freaky To You.” That is a secret kept from Braxton.

I once heard that when you want knowledge, money, success, or whatever, as badly as you want air. It is then that you’ll have it.

Only I can’t imagine wanting anything more than my son back. And to lose everything that I have seen my son tirelessly defend. The fence, the house, all of my little Braxton’s things, my love.

It’s why I deny myself. Everything, old and new, borrowed and blue. Haven’t I been saying I don’t feel like much of a man lately? But I’m your man. Again, always and forever. My love.

But the present is the thing. Love is a gift. A thought of caring like, Happy Birthday Cherry! The things I wanted from her. What I want from you, love. And V. To be happy.

We get that ourselves. The thing is, my Braxton’s still gone. They’ll B Things, Virgil.

1213 Days Without B III, Day 654 of Virgil’s Arrival

B.L.M. Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will

Tale 331 ~Harder To Breathe Up Top~

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Will you breathe? Will, breathe. More like, “Daddy, breathe.” Because when my furry little boy died, I didn’t plan on it. But I’ve managed for 1212 days. There are always more books to read. Or babes to look at. But to exist? Harder To Breathe Up Top

Monday, May 27, 2024

Tale 331 ~Harder To Breathe Up Top~

Three-Hundredth And Forty-Fifth Rule

Madam Justice
Rules are made to be broken… Some people cancel them outright. Some are forgotten about. And still, some will evolve into, well, anything.

It makes my head hurt, along with the time travel. I’m speaking to you on Tuesday, May 21, 2024. However, when this rule was written out, I traced it back to 2018. I mean, wow!

I figured I’d be in another place entirely. Braxton would be twenty next year. And that’s when I expected to lose him. That is if he didn’t lose me by smothering me with his fur.

So what’s making my head hurt now? Why am I breathing when I don’t really want to, Madam? Let’s start by raising my head in the morning. The first breath that enters my lungs. It’s either my Braxton’s name that comes out. Or expletives from my mourning or moaning. Sweet Dreams Are Made Of This.

I’m glad I covered the mirror in the bedroom. But there is the black mirror, AKA the phone, on the table beside me. I hold my breath, looking at the beauty of others. My mind.

Inevitably, I will find other ways not to breathe and instead sound like the zombie I imagine I am. The moans of newly found flesh.

Did I really just say that? And what’s worse is the look on my face when I say or do such things. Taking OnlyFans pictures.

But I could be so exhausted that whatever… risqué book I’m reading falls and hits me in the face. How many times has that happened?

And yet I live. My head stays intact. Breathing away and denying my fondest wish.

What? To follow Braxton wherever he went. The Rainbow Bridge? I am Braxton’s father, but if I had been even more of a man… Would he have lived? I keep asking myself that, Madam. I wanted to be a man of money, merit, and miracles. I would build our Heaven.

There would be no air because we would have everything, and no one could touch my son or me. And yet he found it. I suppose. My B III is sitting in his bed on the vet’s table, not breathing. As for me? When was the last time the “bigger head” has been up? Uhh…

There’s plenty of air as I fall Down To Earth. Nobody but Virgil and I. Harder To Breathe Up Top

“A Man Chooses, A Slave Obeys” ― Andrew Ryan, Bioshock

1212 Days Without B III, Day 653 of Virgil’s Arrival

B.L.M. Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will

Tale 325 ~Virgil Can B Choosy~

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Do I have a choice? Yes. It’s why I look in the mirror, not the nightstand drawer. What? The world’s dangerous, and there’s Heaven, Hell, or the Rainbow Bridge, which I believe my Braxton found. But it wasn’t his choice. Virgil Can B Choosy

Tuesday, May 21, 2024

Tale 325 ~Virgil Can B Choosy~

Dear Future Wife,
You know that I love you, right… A choice? Sure. One that can’t be undone. Our children. My son, Braxton. Even Virgil.

The things that come into my world. But I didn’t choose the world. It’s been a hard few days living in it. And yes, if my B were still here, the past 1206 days would have been no question. Now, that is a lie. But like the promise I made to you. Always and forever.

Whenever I walked out the door, there were three phrases, three words each. “I’ll be back,” “Love ya, B,” and “Love ya Braxton.” No matter what happened, I love Braxton.

That was enough to survive, whatever. And then you ask, what about you? The kids? It’s my choice to come back to my family. I choose you, lover, every day. But it’s a hard choice. I know I sound selfish.

It’s like looking in a mirror. When I see myself even after all this time. I want to do my best Johnny Cash impression. “I hurt myself today.” If I could see myself like Braxton.

Pure love. I’ve told the story time and time again of when my Olds were moving, and Braxton was standing there. “Get in the car!” I yelled. Braxton did not hesitate. He made his choice. B III didn’t know where it would lead, but that choice to love was enough.

Virgil didn’t get that choice. And you, my love, didn’t choose to love, whatever it is I have become. A man of constant sorrow. Because even the choice of me getting up seems too much.

I wake up feeling robbed.

Braxton wasn’t stolen. If I blame anyone for his passing, it’s a former Day Job and my indifference. And that’s why “I Feel Everything.” Grief and sorrow seem the safest.

There was a time when I existed as “lust’s passion will be served…” As if that’s changed with all I do. I’m still in business, after all. The books, babes, and bucks. I want it all. Braxton, though, will not be a part of that. And now choosing to be here. Right here, this moment.

“It’s All Coming Back To Me Now.” A thousand choices shout praises! But make one.

Loving you? I will. Doing right by family. Yes. Existing without my boy? I’m here!

Choose to be happy? Staying enough? Virgil Can B Choosy

1206 Days Without B III, Day 647 of Virgil’s Arrival

B.L.M. Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will

Tale 324 ~Blogging Is Graffiti With Punctuation~

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I ask for my Braxton back. I ask not to regret breathing. And to not be a blogger. But I sit in bed messing up the words because I have a Day Job. So, I’m blogging instead of writing. I promised B, but… Blogging Is Graffiti With Punctuation

Monday, May 20, 2024

Tale 324 ~Blogging Is Graffiti With Punctuation~

Three-Hundredth And Forty-Fourth Rule

Madam Justice
Rules are made to be broken… But not this one. Well, not unless I’m not here anymore. And how I HOPE for that.

Another week feels like an eternity. It’s Sunday, May 12, 2024. Another tear? Another breath.

Have I forgotten where I am and what I’m doing? If this is the First Circle, Limbo. Then, I could see no better punishment for a writer. If only that were my greatest sin, Madam.

Nowadays, I drift between what I did to my son, Braxton. Then there’s my father. Blogging away about those two extremes when it is still Mother’s Day. I know, Madam.

But if I stopped writing, I would honor women, specifically my mother. Honoring my father would mean keeping my mouth shut, but I couldn’t. So I’m stupid. And to honor my son, I would join him. Only he has a story. People should read it.

And so every day, whether I want to or not, I wake up, whittle away time, and write. It’s more like I cry out for him, Braxton, B III! I argue about balls. And then I blog away. This is my way of keeping him alive. Or, so I thought.

So, how long have I been doing that? How long has this blog existed? Oh! Please understand, Madam. I’m not begging anyone to look at this “work” anymore. I don’t. Only these words in Sister Act 2 have stuck with me: “If when you wake up in the morning. you can think of nothing but writing…then you’re a writer.” Now, when I wake up, there’s Braxton first. Then, the question of why I’m breathing. And then there’s this blog. Daring to call myself a writer…

That’s like calling myself a reviewer. This leads me to where this rule came from. It’s from the movie Contagion. “Blogging is not writing. It’s graffiti with punctuation.” But my writing is simply a mess. The Mess! Madam Justice, I’ll get into all sorts of movies at this rate. But I’m not here for that. And since I won’t edit my novels for Braxton, Madam.

What is it I’m doing? Right now, I’m hoping the DISH Network people come through so I won’t have to keep writing about being a fool and my father. Forgive me for my whining, dear Madam. Yet my words have done far worse, haven’t they? Up against the wall, on Mother’s Day. I’m not writing. Blogging Is Graffiti With Punctuation.

“A Man Chooses, A Slave Obeys” ― Andrew Ryan, Bioshock

1205 Days Without B III, Day 646 of Virgil’s Arrival

B.L.M. Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will

Tale 318 ~Virgil’s Drowning Risk B~

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My fears? Braxton’s passing, which I survived… My Olds who are very much alive, and neither one has put me in the ground yet. Then drowning. I even turned off Far Cry 5 when I saw that happening. But Virgil is off and crying? Virgil’s Drowning Risk B

Tuesday, May 14, 2024

Tale 318 ~Virgil’s Drowning Risk B~

Dear Future Wife,
You know that I love you, right… Enough to keep your head above water. Or do I lay my coat over puddles at your feet, my love?

Do I want to be a gentleman today? As with most days—well, let’s say 1199 of them—I want to be a man. I won’t say a happy man, but a man provides. And I’m trying. I always am.

But, my Braxton is gone.

Again, I’m trying to keep Virgil from the same fate. For as long as I can. He has a veterinary appointment tomorrow, so AHEM:

“Shots,
shots,
shots,
shots,
shots,
shots!”

Not a day goes by that I don’t remember the last two that B took. Or was it three? Hmm.

“Shot through the heart, and you’re to blame.” I did that to my furry son. And now to my lovely wife? You’re still here, but Braxton isn’t. What about me?

I’m keeping my head above water. But nobody likes seeing that. So I’m lying here. Waking up, I gasp for air with an expletive upon my lips. No wonder Virgil stays off the bed. And our other children? If I can go through the day without mentioning Braxton. Or saying anything scandalous or scary or that makes someone else sad. Not even now, love. As I can exist… without happiness. I can’t without sadness or FEAR. It won’t go away.

If I am going to wake up wet, with bad words, and wanting another baby. I’d rather be with you, yeah. You keep drowning me in your love. Are you crying from all the laughter, pleasure from… or relief from me not talking about Braxton?

Sigh. Even a sigh means that I’m still breathing. I’m alive. Only the flooding never stops, my love. It’s been raining for so long. And I’m sure even Braxton’s Aunt has grown sick of me. She said she would bring a boat if we ever had another situation like Noah and God’s Wrath, as read in the Bible. But both she and you never knew it would be B III’s passing that would bring this.

I understand what you’re asking of me. I’m a drowning man pulling you under. You’re asking me, when will I grow. Life gave me lemons; I can’t make it lemonade. And I’ll make apple juice because I need to see a doctor. And no man is an island. Water, water, everywhere. Virgil’s Drowning Risk B

1199 Days Without B III, Day 640 of Virgil’s Arrival

B.L.M. Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will

Tale 317 ~The Survivors Will Write History~

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A particular history teacher would quote: history is written by the victors. Napoleon flipped it, as I see White Supremacists do daily. If anything, I only try to survive my own. But writing it gets harder every day. The Survivors Will Write History.

Monday, May 13, 2024

Tale 317 ~The Survivors Will Write History~

Three-Hundredth And Forty-Third Rule

Madam Justice
Rules are made to be broken… Only because I prefer to be a victor. But for now, the rule stands: I’m a survivor.

What? Well? Why? Oh! And my name is Will. As I begin most of my days I remember this, Madam. I remember him. My firstborn son, my Braxton, is gone. And he’s not coming back. Did I Outwit, Outplay, Outlast him. No, I’m unlucky and unfortunate. I am not unalived as the youth say these days. “Beware of an old man in a profession where men usually die young.” I wish I felt that strong. Or that I was that smart. But still, I survive.

And I come to you on Sunday, May 5, 2024. If I were one for prayer… Besides for B’s life. I would pray I don’t have to see this again. But for as STUPID as I am together, we cry…

I’m a survivor! I swear.

I spoke to you earlier today and asked the question… Why. And I’m not for gratitude, I’m sorry to say. And you could have it all. My empire of dirt. If I’d see Braxton again. Madam, I also want Virgil (2V) to be Safe and Sound… I swear I need to turn off the music.

Anyway, what have I survived? I already wrote the Six Impossible Things list today. But…

The worst thing that could happen. And that, again, was losing my son. Braxton passed. Behind that is the thirty-nine years I’ve been alive, each day becoming the worst. There’s the Day Job. I don’t wanna go to work. I don’t wanna work tomorrow. Gratitude, right, Dear Madam. To provide…

To survive. So, number four would be my Old Man. Don’t I sound ungrateful, Madam? Five would be The Zoe Colletti/Tifa Lockhart Incident. And add to that The Cherry Collision. One of these days, I’ll tell you what that all is about. Such Humiliations Galore.

But isn’t that me breaking the rule? Since I won’t tell you how I survived. Or I could be like… THEM. And make my losses triumphs. I could “whitewash” history. But I’m not a liar. And I’m nowhere near as bad as Kristi Noem. Where’s B III again? How’s Virgil?

That leads me to number six. I write to you, the girls, B III, and the man in the mirror. It’s hard, but I survive. The Survivors Will Write History.

“A Man Chooses, A Slave Obeys” ― Andrew Ryan, Bioshock

1198 Days Without B III, Day 639 of Virgil’s Arrival

B.L.M. Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will

Tale 311 ~Virgil, That’ll B Love~

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Love’s not out there. There’s not much love in here, either. If I want to find Love and Happiness. Can I do better than an Al Green song? There are books on love. I don’t have pretty women waitin’ out there. And B’s gone. Virgil, That’ll B Love.

Tuesday, May 7, 2024

Tale 311 ~Virgil, That’ll B Love~

Dear Future Wife,
You know that I love you, right… Always, be it all of two seconds, twenty seconds of insane courage, or the best thirty seconds of my life. (Snickers).

Give me a minute, my love. Am I trying to be funny? Perhaps because laughter is my shield against tears. They say if you can make a woman laugh, you can make her do anything. But if you can make a woman cry… I don’t want to do that unless it’s tears of joy that I’ve brought to your eyes.

I lost happiness way before I lost my firstborn, and I’ve only been out looking for one. I swear love has many different faces. And nowadays, all I see is tears in the eyes of all those around me. But I don’t count myself in that. My tears are all for my son, my Braxton.

God is love? Braxton is love. So are you. But what comes through that door…

You know me, my love. I’m no conservative. A man of tradition? A man provides. Husbands, Fathers, and real men do that. Mine did that. And I had the things I had before you, even before B III. How can I say that he doesn’t love me? I fear I can’t do the same for our family. Fixing things, Grieving…

Again, a man provides, and that has to be enough—all the money in the world. So, I call myself a man because I give this family what it needs. You’ll never go without—ever!

Virgil, our furry “son.” seems to sense my unease. He’s eating well, has his bed and comfy spots, and has even given you more room since he no longer sleeps on the bed. His eyes, like the flickering signal on our DISH Network, tell a different story. They reflect the uncertainty and worry that I’m grappling with. Blankness and emptiness

Love, my dear, is a force that can transcend financial constraints. It’s about the intangible things that money can’t buy, the things that all the wealth in the world couldn’t have saved Braxton from. Yet, I believe in its power. Would I have noticed his condition sooner if I hadn’t been so consumed with work? I wonder, love. These are the questions that haunt me.

Let me tell you what I don’t see: love being advertised, even with all the Mother’s Day stuff everywhere. I’ll always love my Mama, but I hope she takes that love and passes it to her grandchildren and Virgil, too. I love you and hope you take it for our little ones and, yes, Virgil as well. But love for me? To be open instead of broken. Everything is broken, always. Virgil, That’ll B Love

1192 Days Without B III, Day 633 of Virgil’s Arrival

B.L.M. Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will

Tale 310 ~Heart, Soul, Trump Blood, Guts~

WillLeave a comment

I wish I had any of these things. There’s a reason I’m drawn to Hulu’s “The Mill” and Tubi’s “Share?” The Book of Clarence and Fifteen Million Merits, etc. These Black men lose all to gain or lose again. I’m a man… Heart, Soul, Trump Blood, Guts

Monday, May 6, 2024

Tale 310 ~Heart, Soul, Trump Blood, Guts~

Three-Hundredth And Forty-Second Rule

Madam Justice
Rules are made to be broken… So, if you’ll allow me, I’ll share a confession with you today. Mentally, Spiritually, and Physically Unwell.

“I’m not crazy; I’m just a little Unwell.” That’s the Understatement of the century right there, Madam. That’s not my confession. I have my son on my mind. Today is Sunday, May 5, 2024. And tomorrow, when you see this. As unbearable as B’s passing has been, I wish that were all there was, and then again… There’s a reason I said, heart and soul. Uh, Brains? How about flesh?

I’m not the Scarecrow. “Just stop it! Everybody knows (I’m a bleeping monster)!” A zombie. I’m looking for a brain. I lost my guts a long time ago. The only red I see is on my hands, Madam. And who does it belong to? Hmm? Say his name! Braxton. And now Virgil is here, too. Virgil’s joy, love, and happiness?

Doesn’t the Bible say something about this? Specifically, Mathew 10:28. Life and soul. I keep V alive, as my father does for me. But as far as the spirit of Life goes, both Virgil and I go without it. We wake up asking why. Breaths are taken, and hearts are beating. But my Little Braxton.

He was my heart that I left in a vet’s office on Sunday, January 31, 2021. Or it got mixed in with his ashes. Picking up another one isn’t as easy as walking into Petsmart.

So again, Madam, what am I left with? Heart and Soul, Blood and Guts. I’m not a fan of The Wizard of Oz, and this place is far from Wonderland. Dorothy, Alice, Holli Wood, Jessica.

Are you confused about where my mind has gone? So am I, but allow me to explain for the critic and anyone else… (Hears Crickets Chirping.) Dear Madam, I’d rather hear Cricket barking, Kristi Noem.

Anyway, here is a quick rundown, Madam:
The Wizard of Oz ― Dorothy
Alice In Wonderland ― Alice
Cool World ― Holli Wood
Who Framed Roger Rabbit ― Jessica Rabbit

Okay, Madam. I’m trying to say this: I can no longer answer the question or obey the Heart, Soul, Blood, and Guts rule because I’m hollow—an open book without any lines—make-believe, a machine, a monster, a mutation. And my confession? My Apologies, Madam.

I have no need, time, or will to say anything. Or do I prefer emptiness within? Because when I try filling or feeling it, Madam… Heart, Soul, Trump Blood, Guts.

“A Man Chooses, A Slave Obeys” ― Andrew Ryan, Bioshock

1191 Days Without B III, Day 632 of Virgil’s Arrival

B.L.M. Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will