I watched myself fall long after I thought I had caught myself.
I packed my love and a boarding pass, and left us out of my line of sight.
I knew I couldn’t rely on you to stop me, or to catch me, so I ran. I shed every piece of the person I was when you loved me. On the second lap, I breathed into the fact that
I.
Am.
Still.
Whole.
I loved me, too.
I did it all right. I wrote my name in the sky, and renamed the North Star.
With no experience traveling, I packed light: a broken record even I was tired of hearing, a bottle of red wine.
I can use what I carry. Weighed down by nothing but my own understanding I move forward.