I keep returning to old places, trying to find pieces of myself there. But alas, I’ve changed and so has the place I left. The pieces, if I do manage to find them, are mismatched and don’t feel as familiar as I would have hoped.

The sun is high in the bright, blue sky. It’s springtime.

No one ever wants to be the bitter old lady. The bitter old lady didn't even want to be the bitter old lady. She probably got hurt a few times and didn't want to deal with the spiky little scrub growing in her heart.