Before I Go

For a second today I saw how dark and empty my desk looked without me in it. The way my chair was turned out after I'd left in a hurry, now openly awaiting my return. I had jumped out of my body and was witnessing my absence.

I cross the street and mourn for my neighborhood; the ever-changing cast of people has made it feel unfamiliar. My family doesn't even live in the upstairs apartment anymore and a strange new couple will be moving in. I was worried about the awkwardness of running into them leaving as I'm coming home but remembered I wouldn't be coming home for a while. 

I hugged my mom and wondered as she held me, if she was thinking about how it felt to hold me as a child. 

I'll only be 2 hours away but I've never been gone this long.