There are so many things I want to say, so many stories I'd like to write out and live in. Many will come to me, and many have long gone-but still fresh in my mind they breathe, coming out to dance like top hats and ballet flats. I suffocate in some of them sometimes, drown lost and warm, thick masses of haunting prose. Exploding stories of passion, it's the same again.
No title, dear.
Just a bit o` the sunshine.

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