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Just A Wish
The moonlight cut through the thin window panes and lit the piece of paper on the small wooden desk. A pencil moved and began to form words.
Dear Santa,
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Even the Snowflakes
*pterodactyl screech*
(ooh, have you heard my theory on pink and fluffy dinosaurs? eh, another story for another time. . .)
Y’ALL, IT SNOWED. Honest to goodness fluffy white flakes of happiness. -
Rocky Limits
Recently, I’ve gotten back into indoor rock climbing. (No, I’m not going to bore you or make you cringe with the “climbing to new heights” analogy *cringes*)
Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul – and sings the tunes without the words – and never stops at all.
Emily Dickinson
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