My suitcase is nearly empty. I have no trouble with the zipper, don’t have to sit on it or fold my dresses into interesting shapes to optimise my available space.

Oh, I thought it would be hard to escape without leaving a trace. I thought for sure there would be something to pull my heart back here, back to this tiny town with its tiny people.

There isn’t. Not even you.

I don’t live here anymore. Don’t call me. Don’t write.