Today I said goodbye to the house I grew up in and I’m trying to figure out exactly what that means. I’ve been thinking about movement again. Of little feet running up stairs and peeling paint. The rocking of the train and the passing houses leaves me pensive, pushing me back into the past. Home has always been an intangible for me. It shifts under sinking sands. I try and grasp for a concrete concept, some semblance of words or meaning, but my hands keep coming up empty.

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Writer, artist and occasional poet. Lover of philosophy, folklore, history + curiosities. UX writer by day. Writing a book about death by night.

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