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  • Writer's pictureSophie

Day 290


The paintbrush was freezing as it faintly streaked my face in pink hues. I could see some silver balloons across the small backyard, swaying in the early March wind. I could feel the sun beaming down on me, afraid my sweat would ruin the vibrant butterfly on my cheek. The party had been playing a game of "Guess the Insect" when I had made the correct guess of “butterfly!” I could see the disappointed look on other little girls’ faces when I had determined the correct answer and blurted it out. I wasn’t a huge talker, so my loud response came as a shock to most, including my mom.

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