I take my own hand

I take my hand and pull away. I run, tripping over my own feet. I don’t know where I’m going. I don’t know where I’m coming from. Somewhere out in left field maybe. Or maybe I’m not coming from anywhere. Maybe the idea that I have a past is an illusion. Maybe I was born yesterday. I don’t know.

I can’t think. All I can do is run. I’m running away. Away from what? I couldn’t tell you, because I don’t know. I just know that I can’t stay here. I can’t watch this happen. I’ll be shattered and broken if I stay.

I don’t expect this to make sense. I don’t expect you to understand, just please let me go. Don’t ask me to stay, because I couldn’t say no. Let go of my hand so I can take it and run. I’m sorry to leave you. I wish I didn’t have to, but I can’t stay and you won’t go, so there is no other choice. This is the way it must be, regardless of our thoughts on it.

Hug yourself so you feel safe. I’ll take my own hand so I don’t feel alone. Now I must go … before it’s too late.

Goodbye … I’ll miss you.