This place has grown on me; like a weed grows around a flower. Slowly suffocating it to death, but growing to the point of familiarity and heading towards being intimately acquainted. This place smells of home but a stench of distaste looms in the air. My heart bears much in regards to this place. The memories are unforgettable, the stories are unforgivable, but the relationships are ever existent. The people here are unlike any other people on this planet, their lives have melded together. They are interconnected in thousands of ways, and life outside of this bittersweet memory seems hopeless. To mesh back with a society where individual lives intertwine for only a short period of time seems impossible. Our web has been spun and it is a force unbreakable by creatures wandering down our path. This place has grown on me, like a weed. To remove it is impossible, its roots grow too deep.