Your random curiosity about a page that would normally be a boring blank lurking account has paid off!

Have this shitty poem about authors abandoning their stories.

For each account wherein many a month and year has passed since last the mind behind the name graced the stories it holds, treat it with respect.

For it is a death, of sorts. Though it is often one of metaphor, it is an end.

We can only hope, therefor, that they are born again anew, here or elsewhere. And let their imagination bring joy and catharsis to them and others, wherever their muse might take them.