Forgotten the name to forsake

 

Self-threating memories, acting like wounded wounds that don't even feel like healing despite their show off -alwalys under the sunlight- of their so called anb boasted high-endurance. But of course, they're nothing but scared puppies that secretly wish to become mystical cats. Hell, they'd rather become numb cockroaches than accept their growth into that good ol' reliable wolfie rol!
Can't really blame them for choosing a live in dysphoria, though. And even if there's no one else to put the blame on, I still wish for someone to step up and bring and end to the circle of pain and hatred, selflessly aiding in their emergent potential's recovery. Someone who actually cares for them.
Yours sincerely, my deepest and honest apologies. I shall hope for the one descendant that will carry on my promise and Joy.