And if you're ready—just about ready—to severe the ties that bind like the rope in one of your poems, know that it will be easier to cut it without any hesitation.
At. All.
Stay but do not look back. See yourself standing in the middle of the crowd, with your sight detached from your eyes. You don't need them—you never needed them—you are well without them—you've been better without them. See yourself digging your own grave as you clamp your identity on these foundations that no longer support you and had become a tiresome burden, another of your trinkets tied on your ankle, making you drag your feet.
But stay, and sigh a defeated sigh—because you know that there is no way, absolutely no way, that you're not looking back.
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