I pack my bags and linger in hallways in different towns. I smile at strangers, friends of friends, like it makes sense. I have a routine, a favourite breakfast, a goal to meet everyday. I watch the sun sleepless as it rises and fall with all the raindrops that roll down my window. I exist. Linger in the hallways. This is what I want.

I never meet you. I never have my reason to stay and chase this desire to linger in hallways in different towns. I fall out of touch and become a ghost. So many people are united in the way they used to know me. I take a long bus ride back home every other month, and you never push me to learn to drive. I live out of bags. This is what I thought I wanted.

Instead my routine has been thrown out of high windows to be revived and thrown out again. I change my mind a million times, never eating the same breakfast twice, and I learn that a goal unmet today doesn’t have to be a parallel stranger. You pulled me from the hallway to dance in the kitchen. We fall asleep, a huddled mess, on our couch, at nine at night while the movie is still playing. This is what I want.