You never know.

You never know when it’s the last time you walk on the streets of the city you grew up in.

When, for the last time, you buy your favourite buns in that small bakery around the corner that always smells of cardamom and anise. When you get that flat white that tastes of fresh bread and walnut from a barista who doesn’t even ask your order anymore. When you visit that one place with tall street lights right across the theatre you used to visit a lot when you were a kid.

You never know when it’s the last time you see your elders. When you drink that last cup of tea with milk, sitting across your grandma. She was always stubborn, know-it-all, and annoying, but now you miss her.

You never know when it’s the last time you see your parents. One morning, you go to school, angry with your dad over a small thing - I think he asked you to wear a sweater because it was cold outside - and in the evening, your mom tells you he died at work from a stroke. He wasn’t the best dad, however, you still miss him and wonder what could’ve been if only he stayed alive and saw you through your teen years to the adulthood.

As for mom, one day, you go together for a trip to Prague, and the next day you pack your suitcases to leave to the US for good. Then, a couple years later, you leave the US to move to Canada, for good also. She visits you six years later in Canada, and you can’t help but wonder if it was the last time this time.

You never know when it’s the last time of this.

You never know when it’s the last time of that.

You never know when it’s the last time.

You.

Never.

Know.