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I don’t need to tell you how great your writing is, but I like what you do, you’re good at what you do and I hope you keep doing it…

Serendipity

When she was two she could recite poetry. They loved hearing her talk, proving her cleverness and making the other parents jealous. She didn’t remember any of the poems now, and she didn’t want to read them. As she got older they constantly reminded her of her wasted potential, and she knew she stopped being precious when they couldn’t use her to impress their friends.

When she was three they picked her up from her uncle’s village, and that was the last time she ever saw her father’s side of the family. She was covered in mud, her face dirty, and when she looked up and recognised them she started crying. No explanation for the abandonment, they thought she was too young to need any. She grabbed her father’s thumb with her tiny hand and walked away from those memories.

When she was four they moved to the city. Her parents…

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