Why is giving up so hard?
What is this stupid nostalgia that catches you, even when you're about to leave a stinky hole? You'll start thinking that it wasn't that stinky, and you always felt safe there. You catch yourself already missing this bloody hole.
You've cursed it every day when you were there, but leaving is so hard. You wish you had one more week, a couple of days to enjoy it. This nice and comfy hole wasn't that dark after all.
Was it?
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