I am not my sister. Words from the books curl around each othermake little senseuntilI read them againand again, the storysettling into memory. Too slow my teacher says.Read Faster. Too babyish, the teacher says.Read older.But I don't want to read faster or older orany way else that mightmake the story disappear too quickly from whereit's settlinginside my brain,slowly becoming a part of me. A story I will remember long after I've read it for the second, third, tenth, hundredth time.
-Jacqueline Woodson
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