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Death of A Flower

If you were to ask me who I am, I would tell you Sparrow. If you were to ask how I am, I would tell you I am perfectly fine. Stupendous! And if you were to continue the small talk and ask me how my day was, I would tell you it was wonderful. But if you got to know me, laughed with me and fought with me, you would know that not is all as it seems. Peel away the facade to see the raw, broken child inside. I am not whole. I am invisible. I can see and not be seen. Break without being broken. Beneath the smile is a small girl, peering through smoky windows at the world, wondering how in the hell she'll make it. The answer is clear. She will not. She will be crushed, murdered mercilessly in the streets like a dog. But in pain, she can see great things. She knows that when someone is broken, they may yet mend, with care and tender heart. That they may yet live on, and she will have helped at least someone overcome the fear hidden within. Before she herself fades away, a dying flower.



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