In transit.

Because all good things come to those who wait.

And grit their teeth and

dig fingernails into palms

and scream and cry inside their heads

and just try to remember to breathe.

To those who spend all energy trying to hope

that there will be a moment, soon

better than the last one, better than this one.

I have been running away for so long and I’m so tired of it.

The anecdotes and jealousy in other people’s eyes

as I drop in to move on

is not enough.

Perhaps never was.

But I don’t know what else to do,

how else to be something that is not a funny story,

a pack with my life in it,

a goodbye hug,

a fleeting, transitory blink

in the lives of the people I love

and need.

And leave.