There is a certain genre of my leaving 

Wherein the narrative goes as follows:

 

I realise it is time to go

I gather my things

I say goodbye 

We embrace 

“It’s been great seeing you”

“I’ll see you soon”

“I love you”

“I’m going to miss you so much”

We let go

I pull my bag up onto my shoulder 

I start to walk away

I turn to give an extra wave

We start to approach the edges of each other’s visions

And I feel something tug

On this specific spot of my heart 

It tugs so hard and so suddenly it almost makes me jump

And it stops me in my tracks for second

It begs me to turn around 

To run back 

But I pull against it

And keep walking

And in doing so

A lump floats into my throat

And this squishes everything up inside my face

And puts pressure on my tear ducts

It takes every fibre of my being to keep walking

To not look back again

To not collapse into a puddle of tears on the floor

 

I hate when this happens

It always reminds me just how pathetically human I am