I’m just… I’m so incredibly angry right now, and I don't even know where to put it, or who it's actually for, because it's not really anyone's fault, but it FEELS like it is, you know? Like this giant, gaping wound that just opened up and now everything is pouring out, and it all started with my parents selling the farm, which I knew was coming, like everyone in this godforsaken town knew it was coming, because there’s no one to take it over, and I guess that’s where the anger really digs in, because *I’m* the one. I’m the only one. And I didn't. I didn't want it. And now it’s gone. And it’s not like I didn’t have a choice, I mean, technically I did, but did I really? Everyone here, they just… they stay, and they marry their high school sweetheart, and they have kids, and they take over the farm or the mechanic shop or whatever, and I always felt like that was a script, you know? Like, a play that everyone else was born knowing the lines to, and I was just… on stage, but I didn’t get the memo, and I kept trying to ad-lib and it just wasn’t working. And my parents, bless their hearts, they never pushed me, not really, but there was always that quiet expectation, that silent question in their eyes, like, "So, what about the farm?" every time I came home from college, and then after I graduated and got that job in town, the one everyone here thinks is so fancy because it involves a computer and not mud, that question just got louder and louder in my head, even if they never said it out loud. So they finally decided, about six months ago, after my dad almost broke his hip climbing onto the tractor, that it was time, and I remember my mom called me, and she was trying to sound brave, but her voice kept cracking, and she said, “We just can’t do it anymore, honey,” and I felt this… this wave of relief, first, like, *finally*, the decision is made, it’s out of my hands, and then this cold, crushing weight of guilt, like I’d just let them down in the most fundamental way possible. And then the anger started to simmer, slowly at first, but now it’s just boiling over, because it’s not fair, none of it is fair, that this whole legacy, generations of sweat and tears and knowing the land, just… poof, gone. Because of me. Because I wanted something else, something *more*, which now feels so utterly pathetic and small compared to what they’re losing. They’re having an auction next month, for the equipment and some of the old furniture that’s not going to fit in their new, smaller place in town, and I just… I can’t go. I told them I had to work, which is a lie, because I could easily get the day off, but I can’t stand there and watch strangers pick over the pieces of my childhood, like vultures. And then they’re tearing down the barn, the big one, because the developers who bought the land, they want to put up some cookie-cutter houses, probably name the development "Heritage Estates" or something equally vomit-inducing, and it’s just… it's a joke, right? It’s a dark, twisted joke. And I laugh, sometimes, when I think about it, because what else are you supposed to do? Cry? I’m tired of crying. I’m just so damn angry. And there's no one here who would understand, really understand, because everyone just sees me as the one who "got out," the one who "made it," and they don’t see the hollow space where a future was supposed to be, a future I didn't even want but now can't have. And that’s the real kicker, isn’t it? Wanting something only once it’s truly, irreversibly gone.