Two Empty Suitcases

There’s two empty suitcases sitting in the cabinet above my closet. There’s a box full of clothes and books to give away. There’s a room full of memories staring me in the face.

There’s an empty peanut butter jar on the table, a world map on the wall with cheesy quotes I scribbled on as the year went on, my hammam bucket drying in the window, the solar oven I made in the winter and forgot to use when the sun came back… There’s so many trinkets and tram tickets and wrappers all reminding me of something. They’re closing in, screaming, crushing me, forcing me to feel something. It fluctuates between everything and nothing. There are those moments when it hits me and I feel like the air was just knocked out and my chest is screaming and all I can do is let the tears fall. Then there are those emotionless moments when I don’t feel anything. Nothing. I don’t feel empty just… nothing.

I’ve been saying my goodbyes, pulling each band-aid off as quickly as I can and treating it like just any other day, because it is. I’ve just been shrugging it all off. It’s just another Sunday, it’s just another day.

Is this making any sense? I don’t know if it should. I can’t explain how I feel.  All I know is that I’m leaving in 3 days and every inch of my body denies it. If I fully understood that I probably wouldn’t be sitting on my bed writing this right now. I probably would have my bags packed.