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October 24, 2016

I like ivy. And moss, even though I didn’t name myself after it.


It’s maybe time for me to remember what ivy meant to me in the past: never, ever giving up. Always green, even in the depth of winter, and always growing back, no matter how many times you cut it down.

And maybe it’s time to remember what else ivy can mean: always growing, upwards and towards the light, growing and changing.


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