I trace out the furniture and scenes around me. The dusty chest of drawers in Florence, my spectacles, thyroxine and water always on the nightstand, that diorama like hotel room full of promises and lies, the ghostly figure in my childhood bedroom, Kitty opening the

Unexpected change shoves you through an unknown doorway and seals the edges forever shut. I spent my first months living close to that doorway, scratching my nails until they bled, trying to get back through. Begging to return home to myself, wondering what hellish monster pushed