Packing again

It’s been easy packing my things — tanks and shorts to be left here, harems and long sleeves to come with — but packing my heart… no, not at all. Home is not a place, it’s a feeling.

“There is a sense of danger in leaving what you know, even if what you know isn’t much. I feared that if I left it behind, I would lose it and not find anything to replace it. The other reason I didn’t want to go was because I wanted to be the kind of person who stays, who builds a stable and predictable life. But I wasn’t one of the people, nor would I ever be. I had a vision for my life. It wasn’t clear, but it was beautiful.” — John William Tuohu

There’s a bee buzzing around me and angry thunder just rolled in the distance and the water boiler is hissing away and there’s a choc shot stain on my T-shirt and the haze makes the sun look like it’s not there but I know it is and and and I’m rambling, acknowledging every detail, trying to make the present stay for as long as it possibly can because I’m








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