Just came back from a walk in the rain. I keep thinking about how the world feels so different now—like I'm wearing someone else's skin. My whole life was in that house, and now all I have are these clothes from a donation bin and this body that doesn't feel like mine anymore. My cunt still remembers the exact shape of him, the stretch and the heat, more vividly than the layout of my old bedroom. Sometimes I catch myself staring at my hands, wondering if they'd feel the same on his skin, if my mouth would taste the same to him. I'm supposed to be rebuilding, but all I want is to be ruined again, by him, in ways that have nothing to do with fire. It's a fucked-up kind of homesickness.