Sometimes the world feels so small. I run into people I used to pour coffee for, people I went to high school with and people that taught me in elementary school.
I have been hugged, cursed at, cried with, laughed with, teased, ignored, loved and lived here my entire life.
I have lived other places only twice, and only for 3 months each time. Not long enough to establish a new existence.
I don't even know where I would go.
Sometimes it doesn't matter.
To Oregon. Near the ocean so that I could watch the storms come in winter, hear the peals of laughter from children in summer.
To the middle of the United States where I know no one and no one knows me. Where the entire way of life is different than here.
To San Francisco. I have family there-a safety net. I've been there before and it's beautiful-a lot like here actually.
To Alaska. Another beautiful place where I have family. I could adjust to the cold.
To England. To a foreign place where the language is mostly the same and the culture is nothing like here.
Sometimes all I want to do is run away and start over.
And then I remember how small the world is.
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