Ah

It's odd. i don't want to come home anymore. one may reflect this as this saying that my home is a card board box or a unsafe. but in realtiy it isn't. its a perfect size for the fam and it has its nooks in the backyard for me to hide, occasionaly, but it holds memories. the bad ones always overlap the good ones and the good ones pitifully let them without a fight. i want to flee and return once we've gotten over this, somehow. not totally gotten over her, but gotten over crying about her everytime we each say her name, look at her, (now), or just be happy.