itās the wildest thing to realize how much a place can incubate you, how much the people around you can hold you back, both asking you to be a smaller version of yourself for convenience or fun or requirement. iāve spent too long here, walking the same streets, driving the same roads, playing out the same days and scenarios and stories. maybe keeping myself here was my version of punishment, or suppression, or fear. maybe I needed to remake memories, and let things go, and let myself be loved again in a place where I wasnāt. maybe some people here needed to show me what friendship wasnāt, so I could recognize what it was. lies spread through willing ears, twists of truth dealt out like playing cards. avoidance skulking through back alleys and sticking to red brick walls. maybe one day Iāll know what it feels like to have more friends close by who do really want the village. 39 days till weāre gone for good.
















