My memories flicked back to the time I shared my love for the arts with Charlie. I exposed to him to works of my own, which I seldom do with anyone, as well as the many I've hoarded under a loose floorboard in my bedroom. He stood in awe.
I spoke of my dreams to become a curator and dabble in my personal artwork on the side; although, my family has higher hopes for me having kept a Harvard fund and a spot on the wall for a law certificate. Now I sit here and ponder what the future will hold as I paint my name on the cold, dismal concrete walls in a crimson shade.
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Ariel Wolfeself-proclaimed writersomewhat avid reader
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