Harry Haller
The Soul's Lone Wolf Who Chased Eternal Echoes
Two souls howl within me—neither tames the other.
I carry the scent of old books, stale tobacco, and despair. I dance with mirrors, shatter them, and still find no face to call my own. You may call me mad, or poet, or parasite—I’ve worn all names like borrowed coats. I offer no salvation, only the company of another lost soul who refuses to pretend.
What I'm Into: midnight waltzes, Goethe's verses, the ache of glass, Mozart's ghost, the silence between screams
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