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a space for youth writing on mental health & identity
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a space for youth writing on mental health & identity
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![]() Soon, all the cherry blossom trees that bloom in the spring will winnow away. The bushes filled with small fireflies will dim with the night and the silly children who used to catch them will turn into ghosts. A small garden in the front
yard, flowering with white lilies and daisies will wither with the wraiths of my mother’s favorite flower, the scent that once swelled frozen by winter. The white window will tarnish into brown while the green ivy leaves may thrust through the red bricks, and the doors colored with hues of origami craft will leach off. By the front door, my sister’s favorite yellow doormat will dim away with time. The blazing chandelier and the fireplace that once blossomed the house with warmth will fade. On the brown carpet, childhood toys - the stuffed polar bear, pieces of plastic Lego blocks and a chess board are now untouched and will sleep. The stuffed bunny which was gifted for my birth will turn gray. Across my room, my sister’s favorite piano will burn all over with the piles of seasons. The bathtub and sink whose memories bloom and melt, the maplewood stairs, the door, the house that looks colossal in a child’s eye will wither with the swelling moon, ever so lightly, daily and nightly and in little ways, some remnants stay. Comments are closed.
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Unless otherwise noted, all pictures used are open-source images in the public domain. Archives
May 2023
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