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She used to write letters,
draw pictures with crayon.
Her tongue would stick on glue
when she licked to close and send.

She wrote, what’s your name?
I don’t like math.
And then he, in crooked pencil, Troy
and a stick boy saying me, too.

Now she says, be my pen pal.
I’ll write you everyday.
She thinks this missing can be cured
with these words.

She writes, write by hand.
I’d know your script anywhere
.
She thinks he’ll sign I love you
because, it’s true, he still does.

Soon she won’t write anymore.
She’ll give her envelopes away,
and draw stick boys and thought clouds
on post-it notes to herself.

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