LAUREN HART
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CREATIVE WRITING

IT BEGINS AGAIN

15/12/2017

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There was nothing left. The leaves had all fallen away except for one. This was what I called hope in the olden days. I imagine it to be black and white like the movies. It was different some how. Some how, some how, just somehow. I like the feeling where it is safe for me to be me, it just makes sense like you have my back as though I could fall from the greatest height and you would always catch me. Like you are the family I was always looking for. You will always catch me when I fall. The space in between me and them is this feeling. This feeling as though everything makes sense. You know exactly what I mean without explanation. The others need everything spelling out but you're different. You have always been different. I crunch the leaf in my hand and it turns grey like what happens when we get old. I trace the wrinkles around your eyes each time you smile. My finger moves from side to side, repeating this familiar pattern that my body remembers without a flicker of a doubt. And you look me in the eyes one more time and then it begins again...
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