Pulling on my brain much too tightly

Today I did something different: I created a curly masterpiece of hair.

I am moving in five days. Back to home, back to love, back to where I do not need to fear for my life.

But I fear for what is to come. Will I be all that I want to be? Will I be proud of not only my accomplishments, but myself?

I need to post my last two years. Let you see a time where my life was unpredictable, inspiring. A time where I was fearless, heroic rather.

But, as we grow up, we lose our Peter Pan or Wendy. We are now the lost-adults.

It is so hard to write when you live your life so normally, when you forget the mystery of the night, and love the relaxation of doing nothing. Writing needs a bit of the rebellious life.

I need a persona..