The rain is tugging at my soul. It brings back the memories of pitch black back porches, whispered secrets, and a strong southern wind that urged me to run to freedom.
The gypsy in me is hungry again, and smothering my soul. The desire to be free is pulling me down, like a strong tide, it takes all of me to fight it.
I hate hormones. And sometimes I hate gypsy. And I really hate having to be a big girl.
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