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Or SomethingI start picking at my cuticles and the screen turns a light blue, booting itself up.
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The outlines of two windows, one horizontal and one vertical, apparent they are.
Its twelve thirteen or something.
If I wait long enough Ill get to type words.
To whom it may concern, my letter begins.
No, no, no, that wont do, I say.
Audio files fill my screen, blocking out a bird or something.
It looks prettily at me; just sitting there.
Dear Dr. Michaelson; my second attempt.
That sounds better, I think to myself.
Maybe the birdy will provoke thought at me or something.
A long thought turns
The girl runs wildly through her backyard.
Questioning things like life.
Out loud at her mother.
The guardian begins to grow weary of her adolescents rambling maw.
It begins to rain, the tin roof now apparent.
into words, and then a sentence
some commas here and there.
The icons are now more distracting than ever.
piano thing (dad) likes to