the final notes

It is a quiet, solitary Sunday afternoon. I am in my room, peeling clothes off their hangers and stacking pairs of shoes one on top of the other, watching my life as I’ve known it for the past ten months collect and fill my two suitcases. I pause and wonder how many more times I’ll undergo the same process of packing & unpacking, leaving & arriving, ending & starting over, until my hunger for adventure is finally quelled (not anytime soon, my heart interjects), and think how strange it is that what was once so unfamiliar, daunting, and present are now just pages in my personal history book. I imagine myself dog-earing excerpts for later reference, keeping tabs on memories that I know I’ll look back on with laughter, or tears, or a mingling of both. 

Outside, the rain tumbles onto the pavement in measured intervals.

This chapter is nearing its end, and I am writing the final notes. I feel my heart ache a little, then swell with anticipation.

I overflow with gratitude.