on running away
(on leaving, voyage)
Patches of grass jumping from the soles of my emerald-satin-doll flats, that are falling apart for the second time. Self belief as my armour as I charge towards ‘wherever’.
(routine)
sleep one hour, and then little pockets of dozing
make a filling and comforting meal
mothers’ sunglasses
write a farewell note (to whom it may concern)
make peace with the state you are leaving the city in, so you can holistically welcome yourself back
drink something to give you a zing, not heavily caffeinated
be receptive to the birds’ song
order an overpriced breakfast on arrival, in which the contents consist of a subtle reminder of why you left
have caffeine 6 hours into voyage
do your best
Stars are singing to me, when will I take the sky? I know it’s mine because I can feel that I’m allowed a piece. I’m being beckoned forth. Can anyone see the trail I’m leaving?