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Though you’d never admit me to be justified
in saying “no,”
I think you know why I’m doing this.
Too often
I catch you staring at me, wanting me,
but never know how to say
what I have to say.
They called her Little, but Little was big. Little was tall, with stooped shoulders and an odd, loping gait. Mostly, though, Little was lonely.
She was like a dandelion in a field of perfectly cut grass—bright and beautiful to some, but ugly and unwanted to others.