The Real Version
This is the version of me I told myself I was, and then there’s the real one. Shaped by New York nights, quiet truths, and the moments that forced me to see myself without the story. This is her.
There is a version of events I have never written down. It changes nothing and explains everything.
Re-entry
Reentry is never clean. You come back changed, carrying versions of yourself that don’t fit the rooms anymore. This is the moment I stepped into a life I left behind, and the truth that followed me through the door.
Coming back to Sydney felt like stepping into a life I left mid-sentence.
Nothing fit exactly.
Not even me.