Tiny Writing: Six
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Cold.
The winter never stopped. Almost midway into March and the snow continued. But it wasn't the snow that bothered me. It was the continual feeling of being trapped that, much like the winter, persisted. The feeling of cold that racked through me ceaselessly reminded me of the cold I felt on the inside. I've spoken about it before, but no one's ever really heard me.
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Cold.
The winter never stopped. Almost midway into March and the snow continued. But it wasn't the snow that bothered me. It was the continual feeling of being trapped that, much like the winter, persisted. The feeling of cold that racked through me ceaselessly reminded me of the cold I felt on the inside. I've spoken about it before, but no one's ever really heard me.
~✿~✿~✿~✿~✿~✿~✿~✿~✿~✿~✿~✿~✿~✿~✿~✿~✿~✿~✿~✿~✿~✿~✿~✿~✿~✿~✿~✿~✿~
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