I was reading that book about him today.
The one about his life.
The one who's pages smell of patchouli oil.
The one that smells of him.
The one with the name that he called himself.
The one called Raven.
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Short Stories Of Love (COMPLETED)
Lãng mạnI may not be able to give all this love to the one who doesn't know I'm here but why let it go to waste when I can let it overflow here?
