🌫️ The Place Isn’t Haunted. The People Are.

You go back thinking you’re stronger now — and maybe you are.

But the moment you step in, it hits:

A smell.

A look.

A voice that once praised you, then blamed you.

Suddenly, your skin remembers what your brain tried to forget.

You don’t just return to a place.

You return to a version of you that you’ve outgrown.

And the people?

They don’t see who you are now.

They treat you like you never left, like healing didn’t happen, like the old rules still apply.

That’s when you know:

It’s not nostalgia. It’s relapse disguised as comfort.

You don’t belong there anymore — not because you’re lost.

But because you’re found.

And they’re still haunted by the version of you that tolerated their shit.