An ornate and gold-edged book, of which inside are secrets even she doesn't know or understand. But tucked all through it are leaflets of paper, as if she'd rather not write in the book its self. Except on the first empty page of the book is written in exquisite, flowing penmanship her full name. ~ Lavender Cecelia Morgan.
Friday, 25 September 2020
It is so odd to no longer have a home, and at first it was really hard to know I could no longer go home, because I no longer belonged there. But now it is a relief to no longer feel like I am a pariah, or like my very existence there would make another uncomfortable enough to never wake. And while I will miss some there, they are still my friends. But perhaps now I can find where I belong, a home where I feel welcomed and loved.
