"Say goodbye and move on"
I told myself it was routine
and it was exhilarating every time.
I used to hail change as my savior,
because it felt like despite
my stable home
I was still wrapped in a blanket
I love adventuring.
I love the unfamiliarity.
I crave chaos like it craves me.
There was nothing I loved more
than my muscles twitching with anticipation
just waiting for my next move,
and the unexpected
that was vast enough to swallow me whole.
I loved that.
Or so I thought.
I was raised in this world
to move like a sprint,
to pounce as if it was my vice.
I was fine with that,
I accepted that and believed it.
Why am I hesitating?
Why are there clothes scattered on my floor,
littered like the bodies of old versions of myself?