The bed.
The kitchen.
The way I always put the glass next to the sink.
The way I make my sandwich every morning.
Chocolate milk and popcorn.
The view from my window.
Closing the door when mom comes home from work.
The anxiety I get when I know I’m going to drive my car in the morning.
The intense, bitter feeling I get when I see dad’s dirty hands when he comes home from work.
Hiding my journals under the textbooks.
My back hurting because I’m always in front of the computer.
I thought this was who I am.
I thought I needed it in order to be myself.
But I don’t need it.
Life is but a big habit.
