passiom
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It always start quiet;
a slow turning of the wheels in my mind,
a gentle spark in the depths of my cerebellum;
then suddely that spark catches fire and every thought is consumed.
When I was seventeen in early January of my junior year in high school
I picked up a pencil and drew something out of boredom
a doodle of a girl with a bandana in her hair smiling at the sky
