leave

I want to leave so badly, I can feel it in my muscles, stretching and burning almost, as if I were lifting something heavy.

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5 thoughts on “leave

  1. itchy feet 🙂 I get it too, that longing for an adventure. I found out recently I actually have Romany blood, I wasn’t surprised, So can you leave? and if you can where will you go?

  2. Let’s run away together, Lola. You gotta get rid of the cat, though. I’m allergic to cats, and besides, I can’t stand the fucking things. We’ll get married and move slightly out of town to some place where people of modest means can get a pretty big yard, and maybe we’ll get a goat to make up for the loss of your cat, but maybe the fucking thing is too loud and keeps chewing through the fence – they are surprisingly clever animals. Maybe it actually figures out the latch. But point being the goat keeps getting out and getting into the neighbor’s yard and eating his heirloom tomatoes or whateverthefuck – maybe we laugh at this. Maybe this discord with our neighbors only brings us closer together, like, us against the world. Maybe not, maybe you never wanted to get it in the first place, maybe you never wanted to move to the suburbs, maybe you secretly blame me for everything moving too fast and now you’re stuck here out in Punxsutawney or something and now you’re like 33 and if you leave me you’ll never have biological children, but if you stay with me you don’t know how you can stand even one more fucking second in this house in the middle of nowhere and separating the bank accounts is going to be such a god damned pain in the ass, and the goat isn’t cute anymore, it was a stupid idea, and it has an expected life span of like 35 more years but any place you give it away to might use it for meat and that would pretty much be unconscionable. You don’t want it, but you can’t get rid of it. And maybe the attraction starts to wear thin, and instead of spending my afternoons with you looking at paint samples in Home Depot with you, or accompanying you to some roadside fresh produce stands, maybe I start drinking with the guys from work down at the corner bar instead. And I become crass, and insensitive, and “he’s just not the same as when we met”, and you regret the whole thing. That’s what it’s going to be like with you and me in like four years. Maybe. I mean, I don’t know. I don’t have a fucking crystal ball.

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