whatever follows


I leave my job in exactly a month. And the country, technically, at least for a while. My brain is a mess of jumbled words and night terrors, and there will be a time for unraveling that but for now there’s only the stretch of sky in front of my bedroom window and the heavy weight of the ground under my feet. The ache in my muscles and the chocolate covered ginger bites in my bag. The chat on my phone that I’ve pretended not to open all day.

The deep breaths I’m forcing myself to take with every walk home.

These summer evenings, whatever may follow.

These lighter months, whatever may follow.

Whatever may follow.