Some places took on a heavy, headachy sensation in that year-long drought. Now, in the deluge, though I am soaked through, there it is. The feeling of being in a place you should never be. I shouldn’t have come back. I shouldn’t have. Wait. Who said any time could conquer the one to come? I did. And what right did I have to imprison the coming hours, years, iterations? If there is but one set of places that exist in one continuous tread of hours…

I must wrest this place,
First tended, then tainted, back
And let myself live