The Girl Who Grew

 


 I smile at a crumpled picture of eight year old me. I smile at the girl who wrote to impress, not express. I smile at the girl who wanted to write big words and make a difference. I smile at the girl who longed to be acknowledged as someone who writes. This smile isn't mocking in the slightest. It's sweet. Because I know very well how much she has grown. 

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