We went home today. When we woke up she had resolutely decided not to talk to me, giving no clear reason, just clear hatred. We barely spoke the whole journey, from hotel to metro to coach to ferry. A few times I tried to make a reconciliation but I just couldn't work it out. I couldn't understand what I had to do or whether I wanted to do anything. I wept on the ferry. It was a low point.
We met my mum and my auntie, maybe my cousin in Dover and went for dinner, it being my birthday the day after. From the cold pointed hatred of the journey we had to quickly make it seem like we had had a good time and were still having a good time. When we got back to my house in Dover, she went up to my room and stayed their for the rest of the day. I sat in my brother's room and wrote in my notebook. I thought, this day is not going to be a complete waste, I'm going to write.
There are moments in the writing where my anger bursts through.
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