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𝑾𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝑰 𝒄𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒅 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒐 𝒎𝒚 𝒑𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒐𝒘 𝒘𝒊𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒆𝒍𝒔𝒆, 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒉𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒊𝒏𝒈. 𝑾𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒔𝒍𝒆𝒑𝒕, 𝑰 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒚𝒆𝒅 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒉𝒂𝒊𝒓, 𝒂𝒏𝒅, 𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒂𝒔𝒍𝒆𝒆𝒑, 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒉𝒖𝒈𝒈𝒆𝒅 𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒆𝒓.
𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒎𝒆 𝒐𝒏. 𝑰 𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒐𝒈𝒏𝒊𝒛𝒆𝒅 𝒎𝒚 𝒐𝒘𝒏 𝒂𝒏𝒙𝒊𝒆𝒕𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒘𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒅 𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒐 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒆𝒙𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏. 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒏'𝒕 𝒂 𝒃𝒂𝒅 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒐𝒏 𝒐𝒓 𝒊𝒏𝒔𝒆𝒏𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒗𝒆, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒂𝒍𝒔𝒐 𝒔𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒆𝒅 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒆𝒙𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏. 𝑰 𝒘𝒂𝒔𝒏'𝒕 𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒇𝒊𝒆𝒅 𝒐𝒇 𝒊𝒕 𝒈𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒐𝒖𝒕, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒎𝒂𝒅𝒆 𝒔𝒖𝒓𝒆 𝒎𝒚 𝒎𝒐𝒖𝒕𝒉 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒔𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒅 𝒔𝒉𝒖𝒕. 𝑰 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒊𝒏 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒆𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔. 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒅 𝒎𝒚 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒇𝒖𝒎𝒆. 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒏'𝒕 𝒏𝒆𝒓𝒗𝒐𝒖𝒔, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒅 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒎𝒚 𝑩𝑷𝑫. 𝑴𝒚 𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒌 𝒐𝒇 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒃𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒚 𝒅𝒊𝒅𝒏'𝒕 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒊𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒅; 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅𝒏'𝒕 𝒌𝒆𝒆𝒑 𝒖𝒑 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆𝒔. 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒏𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒇𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒂𝒔𝒍𝒆𝒆𝒑 𝒖𝒏𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒉𝒂𝒊𝒓 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒚𝒆𝒅 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉. 𝑰 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒐𝒇 𝒉𝒐𝒎𝒆. 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒉𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒏𝒐 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒇𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆. 𝑰 𝒔𝒆𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒕𝒍𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒅 𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒃𝒂𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒄𝒐𝒍𝒐𝒓 𝒃𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝒘𝒂𝒔. 𝑰 𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒑𝒊𝒔𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒍𝒂𝒘𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒄𝒉𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒎𝒆𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅𝒏'𝒕 𝒔𝒂𝒚 𝒊𝒕. 𝑾𝒆 𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒃𝒐𝒕𝒉 𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒕𝒐 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒉 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒗𝒆𝒔. 𝑰 𝒂𝒔𝒌𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒏𝒅 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒇𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒎𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒑𝒊𝒔𝒕 𝒘𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒔𝒆𝒏𝒅 𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒂 𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒂𝒍 𝒉𝒐𝒔𝒑𝒊𝒕𝒂𝒍 𝒇𝒐𝒓.
~𝑹𝒆𝒏𝒏𝒊𝒆:-)
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To Jump Off That Cliff
Romancei had an english assignment where we had to write a story about love written like another story we read in class and i wanted to share.
