Running away

A part of me is ready to walk away.

I'm good at that, when the going gets rough I turn tail and flee.

I want to sleep through tomorrow, never seeing the light of day.

I want to throw my things haphazardly in my trunk and go

go

go.

Maybe when I see you you'll be mad. You'll get sour and displeased that I threw so much away with both hands. You'll look at me with those deep wonderful browns and you'll sigh and finally take me into your arms.

I want to go.

In five years, ten years, it will all be the same. Who needs a Higher Education to work retail, anyway. Who needs any of this? Without another being to share existence with life is pointless. We will be uncomfortably happy, but that is better then comfortably bitter. And there will be a dog and two cats (yes, I will win that argument) and a few messy children to add volume to life. And I will look back on today and perhaps I will sigh at the illusions of youth, but I will know I chose correctly.

I want to go.

My secret is my suitcase, still packed. I refuse to redistribute the articles inside to a room which feels nothing like home. Cliche or not, my home is with my heart and you are currently my heart's keeper. So it's there, a little bent and beaten and waiting for any excuse I can come up with to fly.

I want to go.

And then I remember your voice, telling me no. Telling me I have to do this, I have to be here now. And I wonder; if I go will you welcome me? Will you smile and tell me you love me? Or will you turn away and point a finger back north.

I want to go.

Here I stay.