Cutting the Strings

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I throw my things in a bag, only what's important. My phone rests on my bed, a note attached. I said my goodbyes and sorry's. I tightly tie my shoelaces and pull on my gloves and hold. Snatching the keys off the desk, I pushed my window open and crawled out of it with my bag. I shut the window and put the screen back in place before going to my motorcycle. Pulling on my helmet, I swing my leg over and stick the key in, starting it up. I glance back to the place I called home for so long, bidding it my final good bye. I take off down the road, onward to a destination far, far away. The note on my phone would direct them to my closet, where packages for each person awaited. A reason and gift for each person. Continuing on my path, the sun rises behind me, casting shadows along the road.

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