It is the Smith;
no, the Chetna
I am at the shore
the edge of things
the trees call my name
they whisper softly to me
rocking my cradle
the first notes of a parental voice
I ever heard sounded like
the hum of tree frogs
and I am at once sad, angry and
alone, again.
I'm going to get her back.
-
I went to first through fourth grade at the same school. After that it was
one year here, one year there, one and a half, two and a half, two… Then
univer...
5 years ago
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