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My name is Anne, and when I was ten, I knew how to kill ghosts with a laugh. I used to know where mermaids live, and how to cross puddles on shabby slippers and a whisper. I spoke the language of stairs, cobwebs, and little hiding places.
Today, I am twenty-four and I am mostly non-existent. For the most part, I’m only bits and pieces of ideas held together by relationships with people who are strong, and brave, and beautiful in ways poets find profound. There isn’t a whole person here yet; only fractures and random little pieces.
Still, I dream of snow. I dream of cotton. I dream of little paper boats crossing oceans. This is how I chase happiness.
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