And she's the moon.
I used to dream of leaving, of packing up and leaving without a second thought, without a second glance. No one would know when I left or where I went.
It would be very calculated. I would leave when everyone was busy and I was assumed to be the same. I would leave an ephemeral, smoky afterimage, an illusion just strong enough to trick people into thinking I was still there, that I was still in their reach. The moment they reached, I would be gone, too far and too long to trace.
It would be easiest this way - no messy, drawn-out goodbyes; no conflicting emotions; no tears; no facetious I’ll-miss-you’s when really, neither party would. That was always my reasoning, that it was the easiest, the smallest burden, the least asked.
With my hands in my pockets and my heart in my luggage, I would have walked away.
But that’s not possible anymore.
If I ever leave, I could learn to miss you.
I love too much now. I don’t dream of that anymore.
Instead, I dream of leaving, unraveling spools of endless thread wherever I go, so I can leave a piece of me wherever I go.
My bike can take me where I need to go, and my imagination can take care of the rest, so this summer, I’m leaving. I’m leaving so I can leave pieces of me everywhere, so I can bring back pieces of other places and other people, so I can return.
Whereas I used to want to leave out of contempt, I now leave for love - love of the world; love of beauty; love of experiences of all kinds, of love, of pain, of happiness, of sadness.
I used to want to leave alone. Not anymore. Not in the least.
I want you with me.
---
Apparently early summer mornings make me very introspective.
It would be very calculated. I would leave when everyone was busy and I was assumed to be the same. I would leave an ephemeral, smoky afterimage, an illusion just strong enough to trick people into thinking I was still there, that I was still in their reach. The moment they reached, I would be gone, too far and too long to trace.
It would be easiest this way - no messy, drawn-out goodbyes; no conflicting emotions; no tears; no facetious I’ll-miss-you’s when really, neither party would. That was always my reasoning, that it was the easiest, the smallest burden, the least asked.
With my hands in my pockets and my heart in my luggage, I would have walked away.
But that’s not possible anymore.
If I ever leave, I could learn to miss you.
I love too much now. I don’t dream of that anymore.
Instead, I dream of leaving, unraveling spools of endless thread wherever I go, so I can leave a piece of me wherever I go.
My bike can take me where I need to go, and my imagination can take care of the rest, so this summer, I’m leaving. I’m leaving so I can leave pieces of me everywhere, so I can bring back pieces of other places and other people, so I can return.
Whereas I used to want to leave out of contempt, I now leave for love - love of the world; love of beauty; love of experiences of all kinds, of love, of pain, of happiness, of sadness.
I used to want to leave alone. Not anymore. Not in the least.
I want you with me.
---
Apparently early summer mornings make me very introspective.