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Description
I snuck onto the grounds of my old elementary school at night with some old fellow classmates a few years ago. It was very eerie, the nostalgia engulfing us. The first adventure, these tiny handprints were there, and I felt a heavy metaphor rolling upon me like a tidal wave.
Like they were ghosts of the children we used to be, crying to be heard, remembered, and set free.
Like they were ghosts of the children we used to be, crying to be heard, remembered, and set free.
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612x612px 163.07 KB
© 2012 - 2024 Vasilisa-Uzhasnaja
Comments13
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Were there voices coming from the wall?