I read it on the internet

Work in Progress

On my computer, I wrote troves of poetry and metaphorical stories, burdening Microsoft Word documents with lamentations about the depression I had been dealing with since fourth grade, and about my parents divorcing. Alone in my room, symbolic pen in my hand, I began, in earnest, to cement my career as a writer.
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For richer or for poorer

Broke in Berkeley

They came to me in the middle of the night. They were young and beautiful and dressed up like they were about to go out. I had about an hour’s warning, and their knock on the door was light so as to wake no one who wasn’t already up. When
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