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A writer uses whatever he/she make come across to get her creative juices going. |
| Last March 17, Covid took my sister Shelly from me. I am still trying to live without her. Shelly and I use to talk on the phone every day. I would hear about her problems or troubles and I would get some of mine in. Now, there is silence, no Shelly talks. I wore some green makeup for the holiday but not for Shelly's death. I worked my hardest. I tried my best not to think of my sister who I miss dearly. |