How does it feel to leave the only house you've ever known? Known so well that you can walk blindfold down the winding staircase and your hand automatically flicks on the light switch on entering a room. Known so well that the faces in the mosaic refuse to be replicated elsewhere and your eyes search for that Michael Jackson-shaped crack on the ceiling plaster.
Known so well that even before you leave it physically, you see it in your dreams each night- reliving a tiny part of yourself in muddied colours.
The wounds of the heart are deepest when one doesn't realise the extent of hurt.
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