The day I left, I stood at the door of my now- empty refrigerator and cried. “I don’t want to do this”. I said, out loud.

I felt as if I were breaking up with a beautiful, doomed, lovable f- up of a man, one who would serve as a benchmark for both the highest and lowest emotional keynotes in one’s life from that point forward.

I came to be with my brother, who had come to be with my sister, who had come for school—one of the few things Buffalo has left is a top rated art education program at a state school price. After my sister completed her program, she left for greener pastures and my brother did too. I stayed on, for four more years, the first two wonderful, matchless and full of discovery, and the last two a gently sloping off ramp that grew incrementally more painful each day.

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