Original Story / Psychology


I think, years from now, when I finally leave, I will doubt myself.
As I drive down the road to the airport, I will feel like crying. I will already miss my mother, and things I’ve left behind, even if I am with her. I will watch all of those familiar landmarks make their way past my vision. The ones I would take into account on the drive to my grandma’s house. On the drive to my great aunts for thanksgiving. And I will miss them as I see them. I will recognize that I will most likely never see my town again. And I’ll contemplate turning the car around, telling my mother, or father, or brother, or whoever was driving me, to stop the car immediately. To turn around, to go back to the house, to my cats. To my bed, my tiny four walled room. But I’ll know, by then, the most important things were already packed away. Torn off the walls, leaving only tiny holes and remnants of tape. All resting broken heartedly in my suitcase.
I will realize, above all else, that I will know no one where I’m going, and how much that scares me. And how much it thrills me.
But I will not tell them to stop the car, I will bite my tongue, and forget. And as I cling tightly to the book in my hand, I will wonder how I will last the flight without a cigarette, or 5. After all, I’ll be flying from New York to England as it seems.
I will think, and dream, of seeing my room again. Of when I come back to visit my parents. But I know the chances of that are slim, if at all. For i know, more than anything, if I did not leave them and never look back, I would never leave that place. And the pain it brings. Not really.
Because I’ll know, deep down, even then, that I’ve have my mind made up for years on end. And I would never look back. Not once.

One thought on “Leaving.

  1. You may not look back, but phone calls are great. When you accomplish a great thing, call them, tell them and listen to the excitement in their voices

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