where is the girl that would write and write for hours?
i miss her.
i tried to find her today.
but i couldn't.
no matter how hard i tried.
i've tried day after day.
but there's no sign of her.
why would she leave?
writing was her passion.
i can feel her deep inside me sometimes.
trying to crawl her way out.
like the light at the end of a very long, very dark tunnel.
this tunnel is drafty and spiders hang from the ceiling and walls.
it smells like shriveled up imagination in here.
i don't very much like it.
come back.
please.
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