will it be this cold where i’m going? that far-off dreamy place? when i come home, will it still be mine? am i still anchored in the ever-changing sea? mom tells me i’ll learn how to stand up straight and the wind won’t be so cold and the boulder won’t be so high and maybe one day i’ll let go of the rocks and brush the sand off my hands but i think my knuckles will stay bruised even then. Stormy Night Charlotte Mark ’26 25
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