How do I leave without running away, scurrying to the relative safety of the unknown? It could be the greatest opportunity ever, but could I take advantage of it for its own sake? I want to stay, but how can I stand my ground when that ground has dissolved beneath my feet? How can I leave with any dignity at all?
How do I stay without clinging, with desperation and inevitable futility, to false hope? Do family and friends mean anything at all? Does my house mean anything at all? I want to leave, but how could I possibly leave my own life? How can I stay for myself, and for nobody else?
How do I change my life, and my habits, and my haunts, without hiding and cowering?
How do I show strength without being cold, without invalidating everything that I've said, and done, and felt?
How do I show emotion without being spineless and selfish, without shaking every time I hear a voice or, God forbid, see a face?
Everything I do is seen through these damn colored glasses. The ones that I've worn willingly for a large chunk of my life. It's no wonder that people are watching me, listening to me, reading my words.
She's reading my words.
How do I move on without rebounding?