There are many things in here, too many to count, some, most, will never leave this place, it reeks of deteriorating film, torn paper, tangled mangled wires and it is filled with the anxiety of waiting, that weird sensation in the stomach of not knowing if it will ever go away, if you'll ever be picked, chosen, restored, remastered, ressurected, birthed, or even killed for that matter. Many will wait until suddenly they disappear, impossible to be reincarnated, quite a few of them will do at the same time, the very last ones, hopefully not a surprise, and hopefully they'll have a seed somewhere else, with someone else, so that they may then time be finished. Here lies:
Tyler the mentally tortured kid by unknown forces; a heat dependent doll in fear of something great; Hell Escaper; Lucas; driver's license; an arcade cabnet, a few of them actually; a drum set; stuffed animals, a 21 year old woman that XXXX XX XXXXX XXXXXXXX; DR.OP; rounded glasses resting on a soft light purple hoodie, somehow two of each; a turn based dungeon rpg card game; a very shitty ukulele; about 3 note pads; so so so many drawings; need for a hug; a group of 4 people that used to be 5; another pair of rounded glasses; an airplaine engine; a yellow umbrella I wish I could punch until it breaks tenfold; song playlists; a very, very mean ill person; gender curiosities; confrontation; David; an OverWatch 2 playthrough; a couple of unfinished logos; a cabin full of cards, blood, teeth and dread; some sleep; BR engine; pong I guess; many promisses; a drawing spider; a cozy room and a cozy seat and an extra seat and a cozy woman watching steven universe; a phone charger; keys; passwords; a ton of frames, drawed on frames, along with sticks, ink, guns, Arthur, a guitar, fireworks, all of it in a forest;
and so, so many other things, that are so deep in darkness that I cannot see, might never see.