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Weekly Contest #79
The dark brown eyes in the mirror of my dresser stared back at me, searching for familiarity. There was a photograph stuck to the mirror. The same, younger set of eyes in that photograph ignored what I was going through, simply staring at my dad’s laughing face and his happy grey eyes as he held me in his arms when I was a five year old. I always wished I had dad’s eyes. Thinking of Dad hurt sometimes. I didn’t want to leave him. I wished, in that moment, that I could be his little baby forever. I was terrified to leave this place. Being old...
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