What's home, if not the first place you run away from? What's love, if not that unexplainable, blazing feeling which comes after a period of hate?
Reputable for her catchy appearance, her over-niceness, her obsession with cartoon animations and her...
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Big Sean ft. Post Malone - Wolves.
5TH MAY, 2020.
~
MY PAPA WAS a talkative.
He had a way with words that'd make you think he was some kind of an Aristotle, Albert Einstein; or in our case, Alphonso fucking Capone.
He wasn't any of those people though, he was Draco Anthony Ash.
I held that man in the highest of all regards, because he taught me a lot of things—discipline, cleanliness, self-control, business strategies, authority...things which I thought were the building blocks of his essence and therefore made him wise and perfect.
But my papa wasn't wise or perfect. He was a liar, a cheat, a fraud and he definitely won the worst husband of the year each year until he passed away. He didn't live by his rules, and as a result of that, he died a shameful death.
I hated him for most of my life, yes, but all his odd quotes and one-liners got engraved like a strike-brand onto my brain. On the day he died, I vowed to live by his rules judiciously, contrary to what he did; maybe then, I'd become a much better man than he was.
His rules became my culture.
His past garrulousness is what made me the kind of man I am today...well, it's a part of what made me who I am today.
Tap.
"Mr. Davian...Mr. Davian, sir..." The manly voice is faint, sounding like a backdrop for all my thoughts but echoing closer and closer enough to overtake them. "Davian!" The sounds of lots of gasps infiltrate by thought-bubble.
What?
I blink, snapping out of my aloofness.
I stare at my surroundings and I'm met with many pairs of eyes, looking at me with the same expressions - a mixture of pity and fear.
There was a time when I'd get high seeing the latter spark in someone's eyes as they regard me, a time my knuckles were always busted and bleeding, but nowadays, it's getting annoying and boring.
It's getting really old. I mean common, it's been eleven fucking years already.
Sure, majority of the board - if not all - knew the kind of life my father led in secret, so somehow, they've managed to hold me in the same regard as well...like I'll spontaneously break out into deranged laughter and pull out a gun from thin air with trigger-happy fingers.
