Hello & Goodbye

You don’t know how to explain it to people anymore, so you don’t try to.

You just said “I’m stepping out” and you left.


Not just to walk around the block.

Not just to get something to eat and some back.

You won’t think about coming back. Not for a long while, at least.


You just go.

You hailed a cab and rode until the driver seemed irritated.

You tipped him enough to double the fare.


Then you walked.

Until your legs were weak and you lost any sense of where you were.

Away from the roads, away from the familiar signs of life.

Out to the interstice between highways and towns, where just rolling hills and silence stretch out.


There, you sat down.

You watched the stars.

And when the sky lightened and you felt hungry, you got back up.

You kept walking.


You walked into a town you’ve never been to, and found a restaurant open with the dawn.

You sat and ate by yourself, but the quiet was a comfort.

You left a tip worth the bill again.


You left.

And you kept going.


Out to a bus stop, that took you as far as it could.

At the city it left you, you wandered all day long.

Until your eyes fell on a hotel, but you felt your feet tugging past it.

So you walked on, until you stopped at an airport.


You called home.

They asked where you were with a professionalism that reminded you why you left.

You asked for a change of clothes, and your passport.

They readied a car.


You sat at the airport bar and waited, sipping something that smelled like fruit.

They arrived after several hours.

You did not explain yourself.


You changed your clothes.

You bought a plane ticket.


You did not say goodbye.

Your flight boarded.

You left.


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What is this?


It’s a nice idea of things that may never happen to you.

A compilation of people and things that probably happened. Probably didn’t.

Stories and poems and words to get lost in. To sink deep into and soak up like an ocean.


They’re just ideas.

And some of them might sound a lot like home.


Run a hot bath.

Pour a cup of tea.

Go stand out in the rain.


Do the things that make you feel like you.

Not alive, not relaxed.

But the things that remind you who you are.

Go do those.


And when you’re done, come back.

Read some more.


Or don’t.

Whichever option makes you the happiest.

Go do that.