there's one large suitcase sitting next to my bedroom door right now.
and an overstuffed blue tote.
my room is littered with all those things i'm just not sure what to do with.
to take this sock or not?
this piece of paper--can i throw it away?
i know it's only three months. i know that.
and yet.
it just feels so... so long.
and so i pack my life into a large black suitcase and one blue tote.
my life. {deep, long exhale}
i know this is the right thing.
in my gut i know it. i know good things will come from this.
and yet.
i can't imagine the other end.
the three months feel as they might just swallow me whole.
and they might just.
and that's okay.
i know that.
and yet.
i can't bring myself to move that large black suitcase and one blue tote to the hallway from which i'll leave tomorrow morning.
from which i'll open our heavy black door, cross some sort of threshold, and close it quietly so as to not wake the others.
perhaps it's that i'm afraid of who i will be--or won't be, what i will know--or won't know when i return. black suitcase, blue tote in hand.
and right now this little expedition, this... trudging through slush of my own self-doubt and deep-brurried belief, feels awfully lonely.