The day of the funeral was not sad, simply because she hadn’t wanted it to be. We’d come, in cut offs and tank tops, knocking our sweaty thighs against the warm altar pew while the preacher thought aloud, mostly wondering why He took her so soon. And we’d listened, because we’d loved her
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xoxoxoxoxoxooxox
xx.
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xox.
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i love when you post these drafts. it reminds me of my writing group at school which i love.
xx
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xx.
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You should definitely stick to writing.
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xx.
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xox.
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