A proud cypress tree, green as any, whose leaves are scattered — some on the floor, and others still hanging; each housing some idea, some thought, some fantasy, built out of a tragedy or joyous happening of personal life.
Novels I shall never complete perhaps, but filled with fluttering creativity and horrid prose.
Started during a very dark time in my life, which made it give me much solace in solitude. Made it in 2025, when I wasn't all that good in writing, so keep your expectations low please.
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