I have lived in this house for all of my thirties.
And I have been left twice.
Left to find my way; to pick up the pieces and move on.
Inspite of that I grasp unto it like a drowning man.
I want it to mean something.
But right now it feels so empty.
I am fully aware that I am the Peter Pan of my peer group.
Floating high, untouched by responsibility.
But I am done.
I want to help people.
To have a family.
To be more then a uncle.
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