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.

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