I hate that awkward in-between, my constant movement making consistency feel like a stand still. I was made for airports and train stations, a book in hand to always whisk me away when even moving doesn't feel fast enough. I grin at the challenge, a chase that I know I will win because nothing but contentment stops me in my tracks. They always tire out before me, and then middle ground sends me itching for escape, regret in my heart even as I close in, knowing I will be leaving before I even get there. I was made for leaving. Remembered by smoke and chester cat smiles, born to disappear. Let the breeze take me away even as tears still stain the pillow I last laid on. It isn't easy to follow to wind, but my god, to be going places is a high they cant take me too. I was born for leaving, but maybe just maybe, this one wouldn't mind leaving with me.