These are not my dreams. These are the hopes, the imaginations, the spinnings of some other woman. Some girl, some jokester, some mean-spirited devil who plants her own seeds in other young minds, to germinate and grow, until the time to cut them, pluck them, seize them from the roots and pull. I do not desire this. I will not succumb, will not be a mere garden of other people's edens. I have my own hopes and needs and longings. They are plenty to fill my heart.
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