The shoe box of not-letting-go.

My childhood room is full to bursting. Odd socks, long faded jeans and a thousand scraps of the past I can’t quite bear to throw away. Tacked to the mirror is a grainy polaroid of me and my sister, gappy toothed grins on Grandpa’s old boat. There is a scratch map of the world that…

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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…