SOPHIA P E L A E Z
the life cycle of the sun Her room has no bed. It has no books in its bookshelves, no clothes in its wardrobe. As she stands in the doorway, her only companion is the falling dust made visible by the afternoon light pouring in from her window. She sees all the chips in the paint and all the cracks in the hardwood floor and her heart grows to the size of an elephant.
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