One night, sometime in the middle of January, I find myself standing at the window, staring out at the city lights that stretch endlessly in every direction. All I can think about is how badly I want quiet. Not silence, but space. Somewhere the air doesn’t feel heavy in my lungs. I want to be able to think and breathe. I don’t want to have to constantly move just to keep up. I need somewhere I can figure out what the hell I’m supposed to do next.
Go home. The thought comes gently.
I stare at my reflection in the glass for a long moment, my brown eyes looking back at me like they’re waiting to see what I’ll do.
Home. A small town nestled in the mountains with slow mornings and familiar faces. It’s the exact opposite of everything I’ve built here in the city.
Guilt bites at me. The idea
