Demi-fiend is greeted by dust and cobwebs as he pulled open the shut-rusted door to his deviantArt account. He coughed a fit at the ensuing wave of dust and dead spiders. He didn't realize he left that long.

No one's been in here for awhile, he thought. In a way, that comforted him. There's nothing worse than seeing your old house was the hangout place of a few dozen traveling hobos. But he wished he came back more often. The neighborhood looks so much different than when he left this burg near a year ago. He wished he could have took in all those changes before setting up shop here again.

He remembered when his deviantID on his front lawn was trendy. Now he realizes it's corny and out of style. It's soooo last year. He wrote that on the list.

His furniture also need rearranging. What the hell is that? He hasn't even touched it. He put scribbles on where he plans to put his comment box, featured deviation, et cetera for aesthetics and efficiency purposes. He threw out those scribbles in the dusty trash can while mumbling "I'll figure it out later."

He has all these new stories and poems in his bag that he wants to frame on the wall for other people to see. They don't look too bad, he thought. This is what he came here to do, anyway, he thought, as he looked at the dusty frames of long-unread prose and poems hanging crooked on the wall.

All in all though, he was excited to be back. He doesn't know how long it'll last here. A week? A month? Will he be staying for the long run? Who knows?

Whichever works for him, welcome back, Demi-fiend. Welcome back, me.