It was raining when I woke up—and my ears were once again alert to years of accustomed sounds; the oh-much-too-early breakfast, the bold cleaning routine asking to be recognized, the hushed purr of the old car’s machinery, instrumental guitar music blaring through speakers, and the strange coldness and humidity that blanketed the whole room from the night before. The dreams here were always too vivid, too strange for the liking, too otherworldly—perhaps that’s why little me had always been so different from girls her age.

This table, this pitter-patter of early rain and the lack of even the slightest sunlight, takes me back a decade back: 2012 Tumblr days, specifically noette Tumblr days. That was a golden age—the dystopian world reigning left and right, my Hunger Games obsession (poke: @burnintwelve!) at full force and the lonely teenage girl coming of age, lost in her fantasy of her self-written world of Liferstone and who knows what else. Life was much too simple back then. Colorful and lively, quiet but rebellious for itself. Love, company, and comfort was found on the web and in books, not in hearts and/or people. They were my safe haven.

I think that’s the most ironic and beautiful thing at the same time, the fact that a majority of my life was this room, this house. Vivid imaginations had let me explore the world for free, traveling without knowing any bounds, fantasizing about everything without having to pay any kind of currency.

Lunch at the dining table, staring directly at what I would call the wilderness backyard. Ideas about lush forests and secret Narnia-like dreamlands seeping through the cracks on the stone walls.

Time is running out and I write with great urgency, not wanting this rush of creativity, this fuzzy feeling, to ever run out. I take a deep breath and let it out, only to realize that the time, has indeed, passed by without pause. In conclusion, there is no going back.