Dear America

Hi America, It’s me, Carly. Do you remember me? I was the buck-toothed little girl with callused summer feet who used to run barefoot from one tree shadow to the next. I was that 7 year old who used to lay in the tall grass at my grandpa’s house, even…

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Stay Awhile.

“I want to go home, but I’m starting to forget what home feels like…” With puffy tear-stained eyes I sat in front of my boyfriend and frantically mumbled my way through a series of feelings about my latest quarter-life crisis. Given the extremity of my lower lip pout and the look of…

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