I reach out and take his hand. His fingers slide between mine. I can't breathe.

My problem might be that even if I did go home, I wouldn’t belong there, among people who give without thinking and care without trying.

I know that I am birdlike, made narrow and small as if for taking flight, built straight-waisted and fragile. But when he touches me like he can't bear to take his hand away, I don't wish I was any different.

Because even a sliver of distance between us is infuriating.

In our factions, we find meaning, we find purpose, we find life.

There are so many ways to be brave in this world. Sometimes it involves giving up everything you have ever known, or everyone you have ever loved for the sake of something greater.

I feel acutely aware of how young I am. In a way that is good. It's productive. It makes me realise that I should be growing as a writer and a person.