WARNING: NOT YJ RELATED WHATSOEVER
I WROTE IT FOR MY CREATIVE nghề viết văn COURSE
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Every ngày she ran.
When she ran, her tim, trái tim would beat faster and faster. Sweat poured down her body as she came to a stop, catching her breath. Her hands on her knees, back a bit hunched, her breathing labored. The concrete beneath her collected the drips that fell off of her and made a satisfying splatter, the đường phố, street now becoming somewhat of a work of art. Standing back up, arching her back slightly as a small stretch, she began her run back home, holding one hand over her heart.
Running had always been her escape....
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