She was small & neat.
Her dark hair was bleached from the sun, from all her hours spent in the garden, no doubt.
Paint clung to her fingernails from her mornings creativity.
Her anxiety was palpable as she clung onto her bag, just bought.
She hoped her nerves did not show too much. What would it be like there?
Would she recognize anyone? No one could give her the answers she needed. She had no choice, she would have to go.
Sept, thats when it all began. Apparently.
She must wait,
the days would soon pass.
Until that day, that fated day must come…,
Her first day at school,


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Filed under Writing: Prose & Poetry

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