I’m destined to be the one leaving. Always one foot in front of the other. Always on the road out of town and quiet. I’m not looking for anything exactly. I simply would rather be There than Here.
There is a formula for leaving and one for running away.
This is how I make sure I’m doing the former. I ensure that everyone who knows me is aware of my eventual departure. I’ll tell people days, months, and years in advance. “I think I’m going to California when I graduate,” I informed my high school friends. “My new year's resolution is to travel more,” I tell my family. “I don’t see myself staying in the Bay forever,” I said on my first day of college. All different ways of saying “I’ll be leaving here. Don’t get used to me.”
Because of this impromptu form of getting the people closest to me prepared for my absence, I also tend to go unceremoniously. I make sure not to have long goodbyes and I won’t give an exact date for when I’ll be gone.
“When are you leaving,” they’ll ask.
“Oh sometime after Christmas.” And that will be that.
No holes will be left in my wake. Everyday will become a new day with or without me. The sun will still shine. The birds will still chirp. The door will be unlocked. The kitchen will be cleaned. The store will open. The people will go on breathing and being and I will be far gone before it is noticed. I fade into a memory with ease.
In this way, I’ve been creating distance between myself and everyone else for as long as I can remember. And I am happy. Or I have been. I think.
I do not run, but mosey away. Dragging my feet. Giving ample room to closure and reckoning. It is protocol. It is comfortable. For me anyways.
This time, as I’m traversing unknown territory yet again, melodramatically and quiet, I see a flaw. A big gaping hole I have left.
I am unalone.
By that I mean two things. Literally, I have company. I have a boyfriend, a dog, a memory and a life being lived. I’m forging a future and doing it the only way I know how. By searching for it. And I am happy. Happy in the sense that I am terrified of being loved AND intertwined. Not left or leaving, but staying and still. Just moving. Together. It is new and exciting and terrifying to say “I’m here. I’m with you. I’m not going anywhere without you.” But that gets easier with practice, as with all things.
I also mean that I have never been alone. Not actually. No matter how much warning I give, I am leaving relationships that mean something behind. They may not be completely disconnected or severed but these relationships will change monumentally. Some will fade completely. Some people I will never see again.
Distance does not always make the heart grow fonder. Sometimes it simply makes the heart forget. Nobody talks about that.
As much as I am capable of leaving and starting over somewhere new, I do not forget very many things. Good things. Memories that are stuck in a certain time and place and person. I carry those with me everywhere. I can still remember the feel of train tracks underneath my feet, smoking loose lipped blunts, walking towards abandoned buildings, laughing with the friends I’ll promise to leave in high school. I’ll keep them close to my heart even after we no longer know the sound of each other’s voices. I’ll carry the drunken nights in dorm rooms. I’ll hold onto the smell of home cooked meals. The makeshift tattoos. The chaos. The joy. The quiet. I’ll remember the tears I shed in an embrace. The poetry circling a room of snapping hands, and loving hearts. I’ll remember the hands held. The pictures painted. The grass sat on. I’ll remember the dancing. The two steps. The tequila shots. The karaoke dipped in pool table light. The skipping downtown and daring the world to fuck around and find out. I’ll remember having friends. True friends. I’ve never been alone. And yet I leave every time.
I’m finding it hard to keep things as much as I can remember them. I leave and I expect all my memories to stand still. I expect to return and everything is just as I left it. The relationships. The joy. There’s no need to cry and say goodbye to things that won’t change, but time and place and people all change. They move on without you. What I’m saying, reader, is that I have willingly become a stranger to some of my dearest friends. In the name of leaving instead of running. You can always run back into open arms. You can run back and amend. You can run and not hide. When you leave, there are people being left. I’m telling you, we are not alone. We are not unseen. We are being held onto. This is worth reminiscing, worth the tears, worth giving flowers to. If you are like me, I beg you to give your loved ones hugs. Plan a time to embrace. Check in on those you think about. Not all things are meant to be evacuated. Don’t let yourself become just another memory. Go, be adventurous, be free, live, and leave no holes.
NOT ALL THINGS ARE MEANT TO BE EVACUATED😭✍️✍️✍️✍️✍️