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4/28/2007 c1 2Chelseamuffin
I luff you, my Megan. (Yes, mine.) But I'm afraid that, without my superior editing skillz, you were left with hree typos. (Well, only two, since tw of them were the same thing.)

-With every movement this knowledge bore down on my like a wave of guilt crashing down on it’s unsuspecting victim. I could feel the ton of its weight crushing my spine, I could feel it’s pressure against the cold sweat that had broke out across my back. [The "it's" should be "its", hun.]

-My steps came quicker. The light splash of my feet as they hit the water soaked ground echoed through my head. [Water-soaked. With a dash.]

Aside from that, dear, sweet Megan, it was excellent. I knew what was gonna happen, but it was still so... intense. I was like, "Dayumm, these friends are bitches."

And yeah. So very noice piece of work you have here, my lovely. Very nice.
4/27/2007 c1 138simply meg
You are gifted in the art of words.

The art of carving each syllable until it is beautiful.

I welcome you to the art of freedom.

For every word is free to be used by any poet.

And you, are a poet.

A poet of fiction, is still a poet.

Indeed, you are gifted in the art of words.

Use your gift wisely.

Rewrap it.

Give it.

For everyone needs it.

Especially for another who is gifted in the art of words.

I thank you for rewrapping this especially for me.

Love you lots,


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