the present

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Little Girl   That little girl who no longer sits at the table, quailing away from the green monstrosities She forages for the ripest of them all Cooked or raw, she isn’t picky
As junior year drew very near, I wondered what would come of this next year. Would I get into the college of my dreams? Would it be as difficult as it seemed?   I feared for my future, so delicate and frail
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