A Writer's Notebook, Two-Thousand-Two-Hundred-And-Eleven

 Melissa and I arrived at my mother's apartment this evening. It is still strange for me to be here, if I am honest, but there is nothing to do about it, I suppose.  I am just stuck in wanting to have back what is gone, which feels like a real pattern or a theme, at least if I think about it just abit too hard and for just a bit too long.

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