No sleep again.
Up all night planning a weekend trip in late July because you told them you'd be leaving in a year. You'd be leaving and you'd start living. Moving to a new city, opening that box and extracting the parts you kept hidden for so long. The best parts of yourself that you locked away because you decided that they were too important to just be their play things.
by c-loser/Planning a weekend trip in late July.
Buy your train ticket and get your hat box, grip the cracked handle of your battered suitcase, find your seat by the window. You can pretend in the inch of freedom behind your sunglasses, in between Beethoven's Symphony No. 9 in D Minor. You can pretend. Stare out the window and forget when your knees are jammed into the back of the passenger's seat, when there's a cooler sitting on your feet, getting your shoes damp. You can pretend.