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Rated: E · Poetry · Experience · #1974606
We all know that feeling.
She swings her feet back

and forth. Her thumbs twist and

twirl in their small, private arena

as her neck scopes around

witnessing unfamiliar trees move away

from her.



She looks to her left to see

her chauffeur – who looks back and smiles

at her. “Almost there, sweetie,”

she’d utter and stare

back in front. But the girl squirms

a little bit more.



The gentle rumbling quiets down

as the girl places her hand on the door

and slowly pushes it open. She doesn’t

want to show fear, so she grits her teeth, departs

the vehicle and gingerly steps out, not daring

to hold her mother’s eager hand.
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