I eat my feelings, swallow my emotions in great big gulps. I sit on them to muffle their sharpness.
Because it’s easier than dealing with them.
I am breaking my mother‘s heart, moving so far away, and I hate myself for it.
Never mind, there are boxes to pack.
In the back of my mind, I corrode myself with worry over what will happen to this relationship of mine, that feels as though it’s never been tested by real life.
But I’ll think about that later. There a dozen phone calls to be made, right now.
Suddenly, I am seeing my friends all the time. We are soaking up each other’s company before I leave.
And days keep ticking over, tumbling forward one after the other.
And I do my best to ignore it, because I’m not sure how else to cope with it.
Reality will come later. Right now there is packing to be done, lists to write, organising to do. A hundred reasons to not have to face what’s painful.