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Stationary photo

Rewrite of a story I wrote last summer in the narrative style:

Starting as a junior at my new school, I was determined to get to know some of my peers over the summer. I had gotten the phone numbers of some of my classmates and sought to reach out to a few of them so we could meet. I didn’t realize how difficult it would be to send a text explaining who I am, how I got their phone number, and that I’d love to meet them. I was desperate to make a connection before the school year started up and everyone got swept up in the craziness of their classes. For each message I sent, I spent a solid twenty minutes writing and rewriting every phrase. Changing as simple of words as “the” to “it”, I was incapable of seeing past a minor imperfection.

My brother's thin-rimmed glasses fell off his nose as he dozed into a deep sleep. The morning sun peeked through the curtains after hours of early restlessness. I adjusted my position on the couch by putting my feet up on the brown leather ottoman in front of me. My eyes drooped as my attention remained on the television, my body heavy as I sunk into my seat. I could hear my godmother’s light footsteps down the old wooden stairs, opening the door and entering our vast, ornate living room.

A life worth living

Is never spent alone

Doubtfully forgiving

How I’ve grown

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