Spring, The Makers Year 1011
Dear Beau,
I’m upset with you. I don’t like the name you called me. And I don’t like that you kept calling me it when I said not to.
Roses are for the outdoors and I am not a rosebud. Nor am I one to even enjoy nature. Plus, a rosebud is small, and tiny. I’m not small and tiny. I am almost at my eighth year of age. And I am only writing to you now because… well, because I needed to tell you that I’m upset with you.
I thought we were friends.
From,
Vi
NOT Rosebud
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