In Response to Why She Can’t

This is a continuation of sorts. A quick, fragmented thought (reaction?).

Bright, white wings. The little girl’s biggest dream was to fly. She pinned a new white feather each day.

Bright, white wings. She was ready to grow up.

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Then one day, she dyed them bright pink. It was surely just a fad. She wanted them to stand out. After all, they were still wings, just full of color to boot.

Bright, pink wings. Outstretched to cover her double.

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