i'll never get to be one of the glass children. i'll never be a 16 year old girl that has to trek africa. i'll never be a deep sea diver or an arctic explorer or a messanger to another galaxy
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when you get older, the shape of your face changes. and when you look at pictures of back then, all the things you thought weren't good enough become coveted
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there is always comfort in going home. in the ability to recognize when you are crossing into your own land, in knowing the name of a street that, from an airplane, is only a line of lights and rooftops
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i can hear power tools buzzing, someplace where i can't see them. hawks are flying low. the freeway to LA is stop and go, and the clouds look like a herd of buffalo, stomping over these california hills.