Leaving London

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As I pack my suitcase and ram as much as I can in it, I recollect…

There is a hint of sadness as I sort out the loose ends. I can’t help it. I have gotten used to London, I have my own little places, and I have my own little people that I will miss. Though it’s not the fact that I will travel by myself that I mind so much. I’m used to being a lone wolf.

A lone wolf. It seems rather peculiar to suggest that wolves are solitary creatures. They are pack animals. A lone owl, sure. But a wolf? Anyway…

There’s this song that I’ve been listening to today. “I can’t help it, I love the broken ones”. I think we are all born broken, and then we can only hope we find the people that can mend us. Lovers, friends, brothers, sisters, teachers, pets. So this is a post for those people that have managed to mend parts of my broken self. This is a post for the people that I have mended too. Perhaps I’m just getting mushy, but I think going away is an appropriate time for mushiness.

They also say that home is where the heart is. Well my heart is in my chest, and I definitely don’t live there. Some quotes just confuse me. I do know, however, that staying home seems easier. That not leaving the loved ones is easier. But easy doesn’t cut it. We have to grow, to evolve, to live. And we must give sacrifices to life if we want to be bigger than we are. Sometimes that sacrifice is being away from your friends, your family, your comfort zone. Luck favours the brave. So here’s to me not getting murdered by the Zetas or any other drug gang whilst in Mexico.

Ah what a mess of a post…

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