I miss the sound of her voice and the color of her hair.
I miss the smell of tomatoes ripening on summer vines accompanied by the smooth texture of paper beneath fingertips.
I miss the irony of innocence complete with virginal nightgown and the misconception of a future.
I miss the time before I knew what wrong was, when being meant simply being, not judging every fleeting thought or feeling for what it might or might not be in the grand scheme of things.
I miss the simplicity of seemingly being a young girl taken care of by her care takers, those chosen for the tasks they chose to be chosen for.
I miss being wanted by those beings who were nothing but greedy, needy things that succeeded in nothing but needing.
These are the things I miss most and I feel amiss without being used for something to get somewhere, so maybe my life is beautiful, just where it needs to be, not being abused.


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