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Noelito Flow

Cry the colours of the rainbow, my sweet. At the end, by the pot of gold, is where we'll meet. Every colour, faded but pretty. Always shines over a dull, grey city.

Why I Write

A cloud of dust wafted from between the giant book’s covers as the stiff pages ruffled loose. Fate stared in awe at the first fable, penned in old-world calligraphy upon yellowed pages spotted with age, and shivered with the anticipation of reading the st