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  • In a green house in West Seattle, down an alley, right next to a church, lived a girl. She was shy and quiet, withdrawn some would say. She had sad eyes and a broken smile. She listened more than she spoke, kept more secrets than she relayed. She once tried to dig her way to China in the neglected garden box in the backyard. She went to school with holes in her shoes and knots in her hair. She slept on a couch that felt like something that would always belong to someone else. She played Double Dutch and Chinese Jumprope. She picked crab apples off stranger's trees and stained her fingers on the neighbor's blackberry brambles. She could spell metamorphosis, restaurant and heroin in 2nd grade. She knew the story of The Ugly Duckling by heart and whispered the words to herself at night. She loved Skittles. She tried to clean the motor oil from underneath a semi truck and found someone dead from an overdose all in one day. She was everyone's favorite, and couldn't understand why. She knew bruises and bumps and disappointments.

    In a green house in West Seattle, down an alley, right next to a church, lived a girl. She would find happiness, success and joy after the bruises healed. She would come to believe, above all else, in the power of resiliency.
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