We all come from parents. Those very parents were once children to their own parents. A never-ending cycle of familiarity, ancestry and identity. The bonds (or lack there of) that may shape us going forward are but cogs in the wheel of sanity, that must keep turning. I often wonder why we are like this. Then, I'm reminded that I'd rather not know anymore. This series of pieces show how I once had a father, then he passed away and maybe one day I'll be a father. I used to have a strong desire for it. That was, when love was alive. It is dead in the entire world now. A shell of a shell of what it once was.
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Son Rise
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Son Set
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Son Light
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