The author

I am a creator, of stories that is.
The story of us
And the lives we share, or could’ve
But I just didn’t get a chance, to shape us and mold us into the thing we would never be
And it burns me like the cherry of a cigarette still lit falling on every free space of my body, trying to break me up until the only thing left is hopeful ash. Taken away with the wind.

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