The sentiment persists that scars construct character. I wish it were that easy.
That my brother and I were not white like the rest of my family didn’t seem to matter much. And then it did.
I wanted someone to play with, but I wanted to create the rules.
“You’ll feel like a baby,” she said. But I didn’t want to feel like a baby.
“In line, you cannot ignore the intelligence of the flesh.”
What kind of story would you like to write?
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