Repetition is soothing. Leaving can become habit. Breaking down your life, building it back up again, rearranging all of your pieces and parts. It’s an exclamation point in the middle of a sentence, starting over in the middle of everything. There is poetry in putting punctuation where it doesn’t belong.
There has never been anyone who could make me stay. I keep searching, but in my heart there is only blue sky. There is only the rust-colored belly of a robin hopping through the greyest winter, dragging spring at the edge of its wings.