Warning! Words with feelings ahead.

Not many words of late. I guess I'm just trying to get back into the swing of things, plus let's be honest, I'm much better at pictures than words. The rambling, the cringeworthy honesty, the words that get published without me ever re-reading them. Well, it's about to happen again kids, so if you can't stomach it I'd be clicking out of this page right about now. 

So back to the story. This time it was nice to be welcomed home and to be missed. But that first weekend I started to feel unsettled and I'd brought that on myself. I'm not going to say how or why, but lets just say I'm an idiot. Restless and itching to throw everything out and to start again - all of a sudden this little house felt claustrophobic and old. This house is me there is no doubt about that, but still, it hasn't changed much from when we were all here together. And I think that's it. For one of us everything is new and different, and for the other it's all the same leftover life. The country-town city dotted with roundabouts, the overgrown garden, the house and its cracked windows and a big tin shed, the same old furniture, the spiderwebs clinging to the yellow weatherboard. All the same. Same dog too (but that bits okay).

But you know what I have to remember? The rest of my life is different because it is full of people who are just mine that I love. And the people that were once shared, well we have new memories now too. Maybe then its not so much the same leftover life, just the leftover shell and really that's okay.