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Looking back at the tear-stained pages Or the fantastical flurry Or even the self-beating words of a young mind, I find something sweet and fitting In the art of permanence.  
I've never seen such a perfectly placed houseSitting there, contently, mocking me on the street newly sweptJust a few fallen leaves remain on the manicured lawnOnly adding to its beauty
I used to be a girl who was so afraid of change
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