I find myself packing bags in the middle of the night. I don’t know where I am going, but just the thought that I can go anywhere gives me some sort of comfort. Run away, young padawan, the world’s not for you. If it is, it will come back to you. Stupid thought. It happens very often nowadays, this packing bags thing. I’d be lying awake and then I’d make up my mind that I can’t be living like this every day. Surely there is more to it? And so I decide to pack my bags and my toothbrush and an extra pair of shoes. I always keep a big chunk of cash ready, in case I ever find the courage to take that path. I know I never will. The idea of escaping is more soothing than the act. Being blessed with rationality is a curse sometimes.
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