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  • The Highland Weaver


This word, when said with an expelled breath, contains its complete meaning and the fullness of time it encapsulates. When I say it, it is 28 years of memories in one expulsion, there is true density to it. I constantly long for a home I had as a child, I worry every day that even if I do purchase a home at some point, I will never have that feeling again. I mourn it like a passed relative, and so I have never been completely happy since. It created a tear in my soul that will never heal, I don’t know how to fix it, I think it will always be there. But the longer the time stretches between myself and its existence the more and more it feels like a dream, not a reality. I now wonder if I do long for something that never existed, a truth romanticised in my head now everything is lost and gone, it can never return. I don’t believe it ever could, even if I returned to that place again, the reality or the dream has shattered its current existence, it can never come back. I don’t know how to create another to be happy again in this time.

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