” Michelle sat in a yogi’s posture on the cold plywood, her eyes closed as if meditating. ” The suitcase loomed in her memory, making its presence felt once again. Michelle's home was one of the smaller palaces, made solidly of red brick with charming black shutters and window boxes full of drooping violets. Her hair got loose, her hat came over one eye, and she had no arm free to replace it. You have the gift of words, but you haven't started to create yet.
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