The maze of the mind. Like a cornfield, rows and rows of that straight and perfect crop. But inside of me, a little girl zig-zags as she plays, breaking stalks in a wild, random path. She cannot be slowed, cannot be rushed. She cannot be told to sit still. Her laughter fills the soft blue air, carried on the wings of the wind. Her tears fall into the chocolate-colored earth, sprouting the stories she dreams. There is no trumpery here. It is to this field I must go. I will follow this girl in me.
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