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The day in the life of Stella.
Just poetry and what not that comes to me at random intervals of time when I'm sittin' in my good ole' computer chair.
Sitting here in that old tank top and boy shorts I used to wear to sleep.
I'm working on an essay, but I can't concentrate on some fictional character's courage.
I've got him on my mind.
Seems that he's all I think about now.
What's he doing?
Is he alright?
How is he?
All these questions popping in my head as I scribble on about how Beneatha wants to become a female doctor when it's impossible and we all know it.
Everyone says I shouldn't feel this way about him anymore.
That I should move on.
He already has.
But.
I can't.
Every moment I'm crying I just want to run into his arms and for him to tell me this was just some sick joke.
And if it is?
I really wouldn't mind.
I'd laugh and hide the little bit of pain I still had left.
Sadly, this is no sick joke.
He's serious and I need to move on.
I'm doing better though.
Dancing is taking away a lot of the pain.
I have to get this essay done though.
Seems this character is a lot like me..
Courageous and indipendednt.
Free spirited..
That's another question popping in my head.
Everyone says I'm so free spirited, but I never truly believed it.
Someone, fill me in.
I guess you all know me better than I know myself.





 
 
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