I didn’t want to return there for fear of what I might feel. The pain might be too much for my shaky heart, easily unsteady with anxiety at the slightest of actions.
Would I see here, people, people that I used to look like with their fresh chance to do it all for the first time and be jealous? If I ever moved back there, would I only like it because of the strong love of memories, unable to create ones just as good in my new person, with my larger heart?
At times I wonder what it takes to make it. And in looking back, I wonder if I already did. Like a sea of water washing over me in the bathroom, no matter the faucet, lake or ocean, I let it all drift away until I choose to fantasize about it again.