How did I come to the point of romanticizing a home I could not even identify?
“It was that closeness that led me to notice the gaps that separated us.”
The day after the election, the last threads of attachment I felt to home frayed and finally broke.
“Do I really love the desert, or was that just a cute phase I went through?”
“None of the things we thought were ours actually belonged to us.”
“I’ve left the city behind, that rabid, morbid, obsequious other obsession.”
What kind of story would you like to write?
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