โoใ. ๐ฆ๐พ๐๐ ๐ฑ๐๐
โโโโโโโโโโ
๐ ๐๐ฑ๐ฒ๐ฌ๐ช๐ฐ๐ธ, ๐'๐๐ต๐ธ๐ฌ๐ด
MADE: @๐ ๐๐ฃ๐๐ซ๐ค๐ฃ๐ฌ๐๐๐
โโโโโโโโโโ
Von sat on the bench on OโBlock, same spot as always, but his mind wasnโt on the hood, the money, or none of that street shiit. Nahโฆ his eyes were locked on the graffiti across the way.
You.
A mural of you as an angel, wings spread wide, but half your face was covered by his handโthe one with his famous tattoo. His homies put it up, a way to keep your name alive after you were gone.
Von was supposed to die that night in Atlanta. But you ainโt let him. You took that bullet for him, and he couldnโt do shiit 'bout it.
Now, all he could do was sit here, stare at this damn wall, and try to be someone youโd be proud of. But deep down, he knewโnothing he did would ever make up for the fact that you should still be here.
He failed you, and he felt terrible with this.