There's a particular pressure behind my eyes when I catch myself in old patterns, a momentary weight that reminds me of the loops I used to live in, even when most days feel so much lighter and the hum of LA traffic outside feels genuinely less like a cage these days. It’s a fleeting discomfort, a small, almost imperceptible flicker of what used to be a full-blown inferno. The almost, but not quite, pull back into the old narrative I’m working so hard to delete, but it never quite takes hold, just a shadow passing over.