Before it all, I was in a dream world. A world where it was okay to stay where you’re at, to settle with what felt best, to live in the good times. Over and Over again. Attachment to memory was not only deadly, but terribly misleading.
Did me starting the fire make me a monster or rather another example of that inevitable transition from an adolescent to woman?
Going back into the homes I once I abandoned,
I learned why I was inclined to run. As my clothes got bigger, along with my problems, I felt these houses get smaller, along with my circles.
Hopefully the latter, because it was time for a change. I was starting to Until everything finally crashed, burned, and see the cracks in the past, but for the vanished, first time I was not inclined to glue it leaving me alone with myself back together. That was the trick to in that waiting room. nostalgia. Familiarity, it was the chain to the slickest beast. I couldn’t tell you Nostalgia was only good for the reminder if it was love, lust, fear, or loathing. I that I had a heart that beats, but I burned the only knew that it wasn’t enough for bridge that was my attachment to my me to trust that it was safe to stay. memories. 4