April is the cruelest month. Lilacs grow on the wasteland, mixing memories and desires together, and let the spring rain urge those dull roots and shoots. ——T. S. Eliot
I am a woman, I exist and therefore feel the world.
Those people and things I once loved, admired or fantasized about may have slowly faded away in reality.
So I wrote them.
[This is a collection of short stories, written casually, both true and false.
Purpose: Self-exploration, female growth
