I Am A Plastic Bag

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It is like one of those days where it feels as though rain is about to come pouring down at any minute— and there’s humidity in the air that makes your hair curl at its ends. With a breeze that smells of earth worms, and damp grass. Thin, white, plastic dances to the motion the wind carries it. Inviting you to come dancing with her. Carried since the day she took her first breath, she has been twirled and ripped at each end. She still moves with an altruistic act. That’s the day you realize there was meaning  behind all things. A benevolent force, letting you know there was no reason to be afraid, ever.






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