Never

there’s a quiet sadness in goodbye, in the see-you-later’s in life that are always justified but never guaranteed. and yet.

I pack my bags and don’t look back, my eyes focused on the infinite line of the horizon, searching for what’s ahead without regretting the tears left behind

on cobblestone streets and plain white sheets, on airplane seats and empty rooms where many times I’ve found myself alone but never lonely.

because sadness is what you make of it

the question of self-pity.