It is an odd feeling – farewell – for there is a rare balance of fear and bravery in it. Packing imposes a choice: what to take and what to leave behind. As the suitcase takes up an identity you hastily put a name tag on it, for in early morning departures one could easily be mistaken for someone else. The sky is still curled up in darkness, the deepest feelings rise to the surface and cloud the glass. For the hell, the fun, the death of it. You walk a distance that quickly rolls back to you, as if there was no distance at all. For in the end the only place you belong to is within.
© margot errante