It was autumn and the leaves were falling. Streets were covered in orange, yellow and a lighter shade of contentment. It was quiet and calm. It was also just before sunrise- most people are asleep at that hour on a Tuesday. I should’ve been asleep too but I couldn’t bring myself to it. Sleeping used to be an escape for me from my problems and emotions which also happened to be my problems and I was just trying really hard not to be escaping anymore. It was the first time in a few days that I was sober and had no intention of changing that yet. I was trying not to escape. I was enjoying the breeze against my cheeks, the breeze was icy and my cheeks were numb- I convinced myself that was the reason my feet were struggling to lead in the direction home. But there were no more turns to take which I in the last few hours hadn’t yet taken and it was starting to get light and cars were starting because most of the people who were sleeping during my journey had to start theirs by going to a job they probably don’t like or driving a child they didn’t choose to have to kindergarten or to have breakfast with someone they love or someone they don’t love or just continue to sleep so that wondering where the next months rent is coming from won’t be a problem for the moment. I didn’t want to see all that. I didn’t want to go home even though I lived in a huge house in an area I had spent years wishing to live in with a person by whom I never believed I could be loved. I was apparently the type of person who, when familiar with something or someone eventually stopped appreciating the concept despite how long it was on my wishlist. I despised myself for possessing this trait. I was happy once. I was apply for a long time but things changed for reasons I am conscious of as well as reasons I cannot begin to imagine. But I stopped belonging in that house with him. Just like the fallen leaves- we all once belonged somewhere but eventually stopped belonging. Whether or not it was our choice is irrelevant, because there’s no way of going back. Some people walk over us, some photograph us because they consider us art. I don’t think we have control over how others choose to see or handle us. I don’t think others consciously choose whether or not they love us. We therefore need to pay no mind to it at all. Because to exist, for the moment, should be enough. I was just existing, searching for the path I was meant to follow since being a leave no longer apart of the only tree I had known.