subject line: my mind, mid-step.



I’m 18 years old and I ran away to Africa. I said goodbye to my family and few friends, and went to the opposite end of the earth. But no matter where I run, I don’t feel settled, I don’t feel loved, and I don’t feel free.

Where I stand now, I have no where left to run. And I’m scared. This is the first time I’ve admitted it, but I’m terrified that I will search this airport and find no one awaiting my arrival; the world world will spin madly on and no one will stop for me.

I know who I want to see waiting for me next to baggage claim or even outside, but it’s a thing of fairytales and things like that don’t happen to me. I watch the poetic happen to people all around me and I am genuinely happy for each one of them. But I don’t want to spend the rest of my life being the personal cheerleader for everyone else’s love story; I want to slow dance too.