021
Mirabella
The airport was unusually quiet, or maybe it was not. Maybe the noise was there and I just could not hear it, as if the world were moving and I was stuck between seconds, standing still in a place that no longer made me feel alive.
I clutched the handle of my suitcase, the same one I had brought here with me from Switzerland. It felt heavier now than it did back then. Perhaps it was just me and not the luggage. My fingers tightened around the grip and my heart felt hollow beneath my ribs, yet my chest still carried something stubborn, something foolishly hopeful. It was a small whisper that maybe, just maybe, this was what starting over multiple times looked like. It was not brave, and it was not perfectly figured out. It was just... necessary.
The glass windows beside me
