I don't think it's hard for me to come to the conclusion that all I've ever wanted is a secure place to call mine, something that no one can take away from me. Yet why is that so fucking hard to achieve?
I finally thought I had found somewhere that was secure, that was mine. My little nest. Yet once again, some mechanism of fate or luck or plain old spite has thrown a cog and broken the machine. I got rid of all my cardboard boxes for crying out loud.
Stop the carousel, I want to blow it up.