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i used to write a lot of poetry. i also kept several diaries. and was full of angst. friends would come and friends would go. then they’d come back. best friends one day, enemies another. that was the game we played. the days would float like clouds. it was always summertime. hazy mists of pollen and golden rays. lying on the grass. gazing up at the sunshine. faded photographs and Polaroid cameras. swings at lunchtime. whispers behind cupped hands. gentle breezes blowing through colourful ribbons in our hair. secrets told, secrets spilled. evil stares in the lunchroom. this is thirteen. this is teen. this is life, what we knew.

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