I am crumbling and collapsing and rebuilding moment to moment. I am breaking open. I am passing through fire. I am burning in ice. I am a statue, I am a whirlpool. This is a time of metamorphosis like none other. It is done in a shouted silence.
I am in Vancouver, with my parents. After all this, I am back here, in a place I couldn’t wait to leave. Here I am, again, dreaming of my flight home. Toronto has become home so quickly, in a way I couldn’t have imagined. I miss it, though I was looking forward to visiting here. It is not so bad when I stop imaging in the worst, when I stop worrying about money or how I’ll pass the time. It can be nice. Two more weeks. They will fly by. Everything does, eventually.