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Another MemoryWatching down the street,
Watching for the black car.
Dark curls brushed her shoulders,
As she shielded her green eyes from the sun.
She was only three,
And she was waiting on the stairs,
For a man to pick her up.
A small suitcase sat next to her,
Filled with dollies and other broken toys,
Ghost toys, memories.
As the day strung on and the shadows grew long,
Her mother tried to get her to come in.
"Honey, he called, and he's sorry, but he can't make it.
Now come in and have dinner."
But the little girl only stared at her,
Hearing the illusion of a ghostly call,
Echo in her mind, in her heart.
In her memory.
She glanced away,
Watching the cars again.
Hesitantly, her mom shut the door,
Brushing away tears of hurt and tears of
Why did he have to do this to her?
Every weekend is the same episode,
It never seems to end.
The ignorance of her battered child,
Matched the innocence in her large green eyes.
They never wavered,
And she never doubted,
Never lost hope.
Every weekend she sat o
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Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More