No Promises

I hate it when people say, “I promise.” / Everyone throws around promises / Like three-year-old flower girls / Running down the aisle.

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Wearing Blue

Seven years ago today, my cousin, Matthew, passed away. He was thirteen years old—far too young to die. I honestly don’t even remember the details of how it happened, but none of that really matters to me. What matters is that it happened, and that he didn’t deserve it. He was too good of a person.

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I’m A Writer, Part Two

I started writing at a really young age. I remember my teachers from elementary school submitting my assignments for contests that were held throughout the school year, and finding my work on the walls, in different halls. I always had a vivid imagination, consumed with the ideas of magic and grandeur, life always moving on and throwing you around. I started out as a little girl with a lot of things to think about and say, and paper just seemed to be the perfect place to do that.

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