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Started reading
November 17, 2025
Art is not one great act of creation, but many small ones. When you read one of my poems, you fail to see the weeks of careful work it took me to build it—the thinking, the scratched-out words, the pages I burned in disgust. All you see, in the end, is what I want you to see.
“I swear to love you with my soul, defend you with my sword, and give nobody else my favor. This I vow to you.”

