Your bags lie half-packed, clothes strewn about the room, your life in shambles, shards of people you might like to be. An airplane ticket sits in your pocket, it makes you feel calm, safe, right.
You realize now when they ask you questions, none of your answers will suit them. You are homeless, now, you do not know where you will be a month from whenever they ask you to clarify your plans, they cannot grasp you. They've known you this way before. They've lost you to the whims.
This, too, feels right.
So you are not sorry.
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