Canines/Beasts/Escape


So while the current me laughs at my reflection in the mirror and admires my canine teeth proudly, the old me whines in my mother's lap that I won't make it until 8th grade graduation, that this animal has outgrown its cage. I realize we're all itching for at least a little escape, and I'm sure my time will come again to long for noncommittal freedom and the ability to run in no direction, with no measures of direction.

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