Leaving-room

She had to, all of sudden; it was like one of these chocolate cravings, the obsession would only cease when yielded to.
A suitcase, the necessary clothes, one or two books waiting to be read, her laptop, her passport, her credit card.
She hopped on the first train. She left.

She wasn't going towards, she was going away from.
Of course she was going to meet new faces, listen to new lives, admire places she hadn't yet looked at, create new memories. Her memories were always of small things. The colour of a wall, a line from some conversation, the smell of a café.
Of course she was going to jump from one place to another, laugh at new situations, cry from new fears.
Of course she was going to give in to this form of permanent force, always forward, always towards something new, not yet seen, not yet experienced, not yet related to, something untouched.

But above all, she was going to be away.
No need to ask questions, no need to put into perspective, no need to probe the depths of her rifts, no need to face her incoherences.
She was going away from blandness, from responsibilities, from consequences.

She is leaving the tangible marks of who she is.
From now on, she will "do", and not "be". She will eat, drink, smoke, kiss, behold, smell, taste, smile, shiver, cough. Nobody will have the time to think "she's greedy, funny, sexy, sarcastic, hurt, frightened, jealous."

She's smiling. She's surprisingly quiet. Now she is the one who decides to love. She's not waiting any more. She has taken this train, but she has also taken her life by the hand. She is thumping her fist on her dusty nostalgia. She is leaving disappointment for impertinence. She will love just enough to feel her heart warm up, and then she'll leave again. She's going towards the egoistic happiness her soloist existence will giver her. She has chosen loneliness and its certainty over tomorrows and their panics.



She's shaking her head, and getting up from her couch. She's walking to the kitchen, to put the old kettle back on. Tea soothes her. Tomorrow, over lunch, she might treat herself to a new pair of shoes.