staying

the one without a country in crowded restaurants,
he who wanted to go far away, always farther away,

The heat of the coffee cup at her fingertips kept ella rooted to her seat in the cafe, even as her mind wandered. She knew, she knew she was not the only one who wanted an exit. Just looking around her cubicle, everyday, she saw people looking restlessly at doorways and windows and at the hands of the clock as they moved. She saw it in the eyes of drunk people as they left the pubs and in the way some men held their coats in their hands on the evening locals - as if they'd let the coat go if only they could. she saw it in the whites of her own knuckles, her left hand held on to her purse in her lap tight.

didn't know what to do there, whether he wanted

This time, when she got up after she finished her coffee, she could pay the bill and get up and walk - not towards her office or towards the station to take the 8.30 local home but away She could go home instead but immediately after she was inside her apartment she could pack her bags and leave. But once she had done that when she was a stranger in some strange village or city or town, what would she do then? would she call her mother to tell her she was safe, or would that count as still being tied down? would she be escaping or running away? was it even possible to be rebellious at 28? Did she even have to think these things, if they didnt or wouldnt or weren't supposed to matter?

or didn't want to leave or remain on the island,
the hesitant one, the hybrid, entangled in himself

The cellphone call was answered. The bill for the coffee paid and the purse was safe in her hands as she crossed the street. Her knuckles whitened for a moment as she gripped the steel handle of her office's door. She decided she would stay on till the sight of flowers made her smile. Her exit could wait till then.