Yellow Heart

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I didn’t know it was going to be this hard; walking into that debilitated building without you, on my own for the first time. Independent is how I was supposed to feel, prancing the hallways as a proud 8th grader. But desolate is what I got when passing the freshly painted locker of yours. No longer was there a fragment of your belonging, and no longer was there resemblance of the yellow heart I painted in the corner.





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