Thoughts on Leaving

It doesn’t matter that the world is falling down. It doesn’t matter that the mold on the window grows over the view or if I wake up on time or wake up at all. Sleep in; sleep all day. It doesn’t matter.

It doesn’t matter how often I sweep, the dust settles over everything an inch thick.

He says, let’s move. Leave it all, pack only what fits into a suitcase, and store the rest. Head west, the way you’ve always wanted to, the way you never dared, not really, not for keeps.

I can’t clean it all, the rubbish builds up and the grime sticks to all surfaces, oily rainbow reflections that reveal nothing.

As if I could leave all this.

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