I’ve been spending a lot of time here, in my room at home, because anywhere else feels a bit too scary at the moment.

Who’d have thought that throwing your old life into the fire, letting it burn up to create a new one, would have such lasting hurdles?

It’s a strange feeling to know that you wouldn’t want to go back, but sometimes wish that you could.

I’m done with the pressure and the comparison of trying to replace what I’ve let go of.

Solitude, it turns out, is the best thing for now. And this room, with its comfy bed and grey walls and light in all the right places, isn’t such a bad place to find it.


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