September 19th, 2015

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September 19th, 2015

       "I can't stop thinking about the snow birds; the ones Ophelia saw when she was first let outside. We're free, but how free are we really? Constantly in hiding, we can't show our faces in so many places, we might have to run again. That's one of the last things I want, but I guess I have to talk to Ophelia about that; running is what we can handle, it's a reminder that we will never truly be free from our past, but at least we have a life, we have a longer leash. She seems so settled here, we both are, actually, and so even just the thought of running makes my stomach churn.

          Telling her that we might have to run, that is something I need to do, but it makes me feel sick to think about. I can imagine her face dropping at the thought, and she would begin to wonder if something happened that made me think we would need to leave soon. It would eat away at her, slowly, painfully. She wouldn't believe me when I told her that it was a thought derived from snow birds; or if she did, she'd probably think I was overreacting. I don't think I am, we've been here for a very long time now, and I'm beginning to wonder if perhaps we've become too comfortable.

        I know she'll talk me down from this idea, a proverbial slap to knock some sense into me. We're safe; we're as free as we will ever be. If I bring it up, what if she suggests we run back? Back to America, back to Steve. I know she thinks about the idea, ever since we left I knew she wanted to go back. Maybe we could try Canada; I've heard good things and O would fit right in.

       No, we'll stay put. But we have to have a plan if we ever have to run."

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