You don’t know this now, but In two days time, you will leave. You will pack one small case. You will post the keys back through the letter box as you leave.
You will take a train to the airport. You will wait in the departure lounge alone, drinking bland coffee; you will buy a pair of sunglasses, a notebook.
Later that day, you will sit in a small restaurant in a foreign square, warmed by the evening sun. You will order a glass of white wine, and a plate of pasta. You will eat it slowly.
You will leave your phone unanswered. You will read your novel. You will go back to a quiet room, with a window looking out over red roof tops.
You will feel a knot loosen in your chest.
You will love again the stranger who was yourself.
For the third dVerse prosery – a…
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