Mom Ana gently whispers to you: "Once you ..."
My OC.
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I'm sick of the past
I can't erase,
A jumble of footprints
And hasty steps I can't retrace,
The mountains of things
That I still regret,
Is a vile reminder that
I would rather just forget
(No matter where I go)
The fire I began,
Is burning me alive
But I know better than
To leave and let it die
© Owl City - Silhouette
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Cleaned up the scan and finished painting
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Cleaned up the scan and finished painting
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