I've decided there's a vast difference between leaving a place and leaving a person. I am the type of human that seeks change. I'm the type of person that needs the comfort that something more will come. So by having this quality I have to ensure that my future is never at a standstill. I’d like to be associated with millions of different tidbits especially ones that orbit at a million miles per hour, danger. Danger is then tied up with fear which brings me to the fear of leaving. When I think about leaving my house, I think about the cracks in the Victorian wallpaper, the rusty stove, and the worn, burnt chimney bricks. The people that surround this ideology of my flawless picket fence lifestyle are so similar to that house. Each one of my friends seems to be splitting in half like the paper plastered onto my walls. I think about how each one has had to shine for such an extended period of time, and their tireless qualities can now only rust. The bricks that form them are becoming worn and the cement that holds those bricks together is becoming looser. So wouldn't it be so easy to leave a place where every decrepit item haunts you? While it's harder than it looks. I want to repair every item and paint a new face on each one. I want to sew buttons and smiles onto their worn bodies I want them to feel beautiful and alive. I want them to live the way they want and cry because they need to and know that it's all going to end up with some sense of bliss. It may be easy to leave something so broken, but it's hard to leave something that you can't fix. So do you stay?