Kurt Vonnegut

Sometimes in November, when I walk into empty rooms, I smell my old red haired mother's perfume.

Imagine my surprise when the scent came to me in an upstairs room of a birth center in central Manila.

Two nights before, I had scrubbed off the smell of Lovely, stayed up all night, and then walked onto a plane to the other side of the world.

For the life of me, I do not know how I did it.

I left everything. I left Rashka. I left Mom and school and normal thoughts and clothes and my sense of putting everything in its place.

And I jumped.

And I flourished.

I came home to cold days and reality and Lovely. I left those for colder days and Chemistry and Lovely's expected backwards flip off the ledge.

it was bad. I would lie down at night and let my mind spin itself into a knot so tight the only thing to do was cut it off.

Day by day, it got better. And I met the Magi. But sitting here now, I realise that Lovely has reincarnated.

And I hate him for it.

But I know who I really hate. I am the one who habitually goes into the forest at night looking for ghosts with nothing prepared to say.

I can feel the breaking point coming.

If it weren't for my recent break from tradition that proved to me that I am strong, I would probably run right back to the ghosts.