I’m sat in my flat, and looking at my walls.

I still can’t believe I am where I am. In a flat that I am buying, and so lining my own pockets instead of those of others. The rapidity of the changes still hasn’t sunk in either. It’s still barely 15 weeks since I looked forlornly at the “For Sale” signs I would see littering my journey to work, and inwardly cry “if only”.

It all changed with a chance conversation, and after eight weeks of highs and lows I had my keys. Now I’ve been living in my walls for six weeks. There are blinds up at windows, soft carpets to walk on, a huge bath to soak in, and finally a massive sofa to curl up on.

Which is where I am right now. Tea in hand, tears on my cheeks. Happy tears.

It’s been a tumultuous and emotional three year journey to get here where I am.

At home.

My Home.

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