The easier it was to take it, but I leave it behind. Necessarily, I choose. I leave behind what belongs there and I take with me only what I need. Sometimes I fuck up, horribly, laughably, tragically, and I over-pack, I underestimate, I overcompensate, passive and regretfilled as the woman that I am but mostly was, and sometimes I wallow in that and rub my nose raw in all the mistakes, laughably, pathetically, groveling in the gravel that soon to dust but not as soon as me. My ears begin to ring around this room and I think, I will grow elsewhere a while.
If today would bring me closer to yesterday, I sometimes think, and always it is with a wistful way about my eyes. They seem to grow old. I will not take them out dancing.
But be assured every part of me is dancing. However the hell I want.
