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Literature Text
Caen las hojas del árbol a la tierra—
cruzada por la suerte, embrujadapor luz—y muere la flor marchitada,
esperando hasta el verano cierra.
Este incendio forestal me salva,
y tienen toda la dulzura de miel
las cicatrices debajo de mi piel.
Pero es mi alma verde, o malva?
Ahora la luna me deja en paz con
el mar tan tranquilo, tan violento.
Duermo baja las estrellas porque son
mentiras los susurros halagüeños.
Discúlpame por dejar y lo siento
por la pérdida de cientos de sueños.
![[OPEN] Adoptable #EC000854](https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/3a5f6192-0887-4a94-8d64-334eb14715fe/dh33dv6-1f480054-a719-4a3e-8fb1-5dd1cf94f9ab.png/v1/fit/w_375,h_563,q_70,strp/_open__adoptable__ec000854_by_oka_echo_dh33dv6-375w.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.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.JKRGPyLrNFLcVlYkdN1agZQD_x6SSB5H30UCnizBzIY)
Literature
Elemental Assistance
Rain arrived in misty waves across the countryside and soothed away some of the strain born from uncertain times mixed with daily stresses Like medicine from the skies so those below might relax a bit more and breathe a little easier It was a day to curl up beneath blankets listen to music or read books while drops went
Literature
The Traveler
She blew in on the last day of summer, arriving just as the wind began, clutching an artist’s portfolio and a hatbox. There was wonder and wisdom in her bright blue eyes, softened by time and crow’s-feet, and a perfect maple leaf the color of flame was caught in her unruly red hair… her perfume hinted of woodsmoke and oak tannins and the spice of faraway, foreign ports. I helped her carry her hatbox from the train station, and when she smiled at me, I knew everything was about to change.
We shared a cab to the little seaside town where we were both staying, there on the cusp of the world; it had long been one of my favorite
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- i don't want to wake up.
- i find myself forgetting to breathe.
- it’s like divya said—i’m so sad beneath all the happy.
- i can write a sonnet in spanish but i can't write anything worth calling worthwhile in english anymore.
- nothing beautiful, i mean. all i've been typing is emails and college essays, selling myself to institutions where i don't want to be but where at least i can hope it will be better than where i am now.
- i try to make enough with what i have, but it's exhausting, but i'm not supposed to tire easily.
- thing is, what am i fighting for?
- what am i living for?
- i've realized that when i say i'm not human it's
- not a plea for someone to tell me i'm wrong.
- it's wishful thinking.
- the future:
- i'm turning sixteen in five days.
- i'm going to a halsey concert with friends.
- i'm spending a week on our senior trip to disney world.
- i'm going to be okay. this will pass. it has to.
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Comments10
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My heart is with you, honey. 
Also, this:
Also, this:
- it’s like divya said—i’m so sad beneath all the happy.