i begin the descent, language carries me on.
the door whispers.
i pack the last of my belongings, all the time wandering if i am dressed appropiately, or if i should've layered up more, san francisco style.
the ground shivers, roots begin to sprout from deep within the cracks.
i feel blessed.
and decide to not look back, despite this overwhelming urge
to smell her hair again.
even if just for a couple of seconds
even if she doesn't stop me before i leave the country.