two

7 am. The early morning sun reflects on the cars and the buildings of downtown Toronto, sparkling as the rays hit the shiny surfaces.

I watch all this from my room. It is cold and dim and cozy inside, and I feel like snuggling back under the covers.

I am still sinking.

****

I wish someone from the future would come back here and tell me what lies ahead.

Tell me everything will be okay. Tell me I will be okay.

Because right now I can only see darkness.

****

And on the last Thursday of my last week in Toronto, we hold our final meeting for the project that brought me here. It was the last time I would work with some people on the team.

Everyone is saying goodbye.

****

Someone placed a flyer on my desk today. At the top, it read: What are you doing this weekend?

I am leaving Toronto.

I am flying to New York, but strangely, I cannot muster an ounce of excitement. All I can think about is leaving.

Damn, damn, damn. Deep breaths to keep the panic from rising.

****

At lunchtime, the tears threaten to well up, so I got up and walked out of the office. I ended up on a swing at Avondale Park, near the area where I spent the first two weeks of this trip. I still remember that day clearly. The world was whirling in the blustery winds.


This was where it all started, perhaps this is where it has to end.

****

Just when the catterpillar thought her life had ended, she became a butterfly.

I wish I was a catterpillar.