Clara
Packing has always given me a sense of order.
Folding clothes. Close zippers. Classify what is necessary from what can stay.
But this time there is no order. I just weigh.
The suitcase is open on the bed and I have been sitting in front of it for several minutes without moving. The house is quieter than usual. Mom has tried to fake normalcy all day. Me too... But we both know that this is another farewell.
Not definitive, not tragic. But it is painful.
"You have to go back," she said to me last night, while we were drinking tea in the kitchen.
As if she was reading my thoughts.
"I know."
And I really know it.
The company is not going to run itself. The contract in New York is not going to wait forever. There are decisions I have to make, even if it still hurts to breathe w
