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Frozen in Time

She picks it up as delicately as possible. Tracing her fingers along the bumpy outline, all the while gazing at the smiling child,
ready to dart and rip open the colorful boxes after the momentary flash of light. She moves her fingers across the smooth dusty surface,like she's trying to grab at the colorful boxes, wanting to stick the bows on her forehead.
She picks at her thick hair, picturing the long stringy hair of the child's. Then she sets it down as delicately as she picked it up, warmed by the blanket of her past.





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thoughtfulsoul said...
Mar. 29, 2010 at 7:18 pm
I just realized I placed this in the wrong area. This was actually probably supposed to go under poems or nonfiction. This was an english assignment from last year.
 
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