The Village

I’m home. After four years of dancing until 6am and walking home in sunshine, cramming for endless exams in the creaking, soft lit library and wrapping myself in a holey blanket to watch Planet Earth with a packet of biscuits in each hand and a bottle of wine on the table, I have returned to…

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It’s not you, it’s me. And that’s ok.

        My desire to fit in and be accepted has always conflicted with my ability to stay true to myself. The tattoo on my back, a fishing fly, is a motif of not selling out with my beliefs to be liked by those around me. The price is too high. At 18,…