I think that, when it comes down to all of this, there must have been a point. There must have been a place called mine between all theses mixed masses of pain. I do remember parts that had both of us smiling, those parts kept us whole, creaky but not in pieces. Dispensing anger and love at alternating intervals. Some more than others. So I am looking back, while looking for a new home, at when our home wasnt even ours yet, but we knew at first sight. There is a mixture of new place and old place smell and creases in the future saved for us. Great light on the present darkness. Natural light. The wood was all so old like fights that never went anywhere but in straight lines of hardness. But I loved it. Not the dank that snuck in at night with the whiskey, but those bright mornings rolling awake whole days ahead of whatever we wanted. So i suppose i will start again, not even remembering what happy is, but I will again. In my new place that's just mine. Not ours.