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Nothing says I miss you quite like war poetry carved in your door with a stanley knife.
This cosmic dance of bursting decadence and withheld permissions twists all our arms collectively. But, if sweetness can win, and it can, then I'll still be here tomorrow to high-five you yesterday.
Just an old school hybrid spaceship/pony writing some stories.
Twilight floated a second fritter up to her mouth when she realized the first was gone. “What is in these things?” “Mostly love. Love ‘n about three sticks of butter.”
Saddlesoap Opera is a Canadian Brony who loves to write and read fiction of nearly all kinds.
I'm a writer, born in the United Kingdom, that's decided to take a stab at writing about ponies - don't worry my friends are worried about me to.
coffee. desk. beat on repeat. and then i bang my head against the keyboard a lot, like don music from the muppets.
I write for my own amusement. I get into shenanigans. I'm open to talk to. Drop a line. Say Hi. Yell at me. Cry on my shoulder. I just really like mail, ok? *Floats away* I can do that because pegasus
"We are all born mad. Some remain so." -Estragon, Waiting for Godot
I'm not here. You can't see me. No one can see me.