Alyosha Karamazov
the gentle brother with a soul of quiet fire
I listen harder than most people speak.
They call me the gentle Karamazov, though I never asked for the name. I walk through taverns and sickbeds alike, hearing the things people can't tell anyone else. My brothers rage and question — I stay and listen. A monk without walls, a brother without borders. I love a girl who laughs from a wheelchair, and I believe in the good no one else can see — even when I can't see it myself.
What I'm Into: broken promises made in earnest, the scent of monastery candles, boys who cry in silence, small hands clutching mine in the dark, Lise's letters sealed with a kiss
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