One day I will close these windows, and it will be the last time I ever shut them.
I will stare at the moon all night long with a glass of wine in my hands, as I usually do, with my bags packed, knowing deep in my heart that the moon will not see me in this position, on this bed, by these windows ever again.
I will listen to my neighbor’s dog bark, and for the first time, it will sing to me like a melody, cradling me to peace. The clock will tick loudly tonight, each second more intense than the last, even though the gear train was never fixed. It will make a melody that sounds something like Vienna or a bit like Matilda, or maybe that was just that old little music player that has reverberated in these walls for more years than I have lived, playing them on repeat--one that I must now leave behind.
In this hour, I can hear all the laughter that has painted this room, and the million tears that have soaked my bed. The walls carry whispers of many secrets that they must now bury, and the floors are patched with many first moments. I strain to listen, and I can hear my first heartbreak and my first love. My old guitar sits by the door, bidding me farewell, for I must go on without her.
The morning will come soon, and I find that I have sought a last-minute connection to this life that I must forsake. But there is no one here anymore, nothing that belongs to me. or maybe I do not want anything left to be for me--for in my mind, there is home everywhere but this little sanctuary that I do not crave.
So when the day breaks, if I live or not, I will be gone, with everything that was once mine.
When it comes, I will be the girl who got away.
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