It’s hard to imagine I’d be right back where I began. Two years ago I had committed myself to the laborious job of forgetting everything that has to do with writing and art. It was a phase, I suppose, that I swore I’d never get past, and I’ve never been more wrong. This place is home, and yet not home at all. It’s a black hole that swallows you up and clamps on to you if you get too close. And while I truly adore these people and love them to bits, there’s a looming destructive force that surrounds every second I’m with them that just frightens me. They’ve all changed, and grown, and I’m the rear guard and…



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