Where have the flowers of spring gone? Those were the days of our youth. Spent in the hope of something better. Only to be wasted by those who did not understand their value.
Art, Poetry, and dreams of things to come. False Promises is something we all do whether we make them to pacify a young child or an anal associate. The worst are the ones we make to ourselves and label bucket or wish list.
With that said I hope to write stories populated by my memories, and the regrets that I would change. If only done in fiction or a dream, I tried.
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False Promises Nouveau 