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CFT, Chapter 1.
The night air was warm and crisp, the slight breeze billowing my hair as I led Kasey down the dimly lit street filled with awkward shadows and empty ...
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December is always the worst
Back to writing poems, I suppose.
The night air was warm and crisp, the slight breeze billowing my hair as I led Kasey down the dimly lit street filled with awkward shadows and empty ...
Back to writing poems, I suppose.
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