As I prepare myself to say goodbye to everything that is familiar to me, I am flooded with memories that this Town has provided me, as well as the things it has taught me: to by myself, to be abused and battered, to smoke at 12, to have sex at 13, to pop pills by 14, to shoot up by 15, to be gay, to be loved, to love. To write. To scream. To breathe. To live. To breathe.
This Town has been with me, like my Room, through it all. But the thing I shall be eternally grateful for, is this: It allowed me back into it’s safe, judgmental arms after I abandoned it dozens of times and fleeted off to a place I convinced myself was home, all the while being proved wrong. I was home all along.

When all else fails, turn to poetry.
“Art is the only way to run away without leaving home.”