letter to the old me

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under the sycamore tree in my backyard
there is a girl
with stars in her eyes
and books all around her
she is in love with words
i think we should leave her there
because eventually,
what life will throw at her
will almost become too much
and the words she once loved
won’t make her happy
until the water runs again
after a terrible drought,
when white butterflies
surround her head like a crown
to remind her off all she has lost,
and all she has gained
only then, the words will finally make her heart, sing again

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