Okay, so—
I didn’t just walk out.
I ran.
Not in a cool, slow-mo movie way.
More like tripping over a slipper
and accidentally knocking over my own confidence.

From what?
Everything.
The noise, the drama, the people who say
“Can I give you some feedback?”
(Please don’t. I’m fragile.)

I ran from my to-do list,
from “urgent” group calls,
and that one aunty who asks
if I’ve “lost weight or just look sick.”
Honestly, both.

I ran when I saw my old teacher at the grocery store.
I ran when someone asked,
“What’s your 5-year plan?”
I barely have a 5-minute one
and it mostly involves snacks.

Call it immature—
I call it survival.

I didn’t pack much.
Just chips, a charger,
and a carefully folded blanket of denial.

No regrets.
Now I’m somewhere quiet,
where no one talks about promotions,
weddings,
or “what I’ve accomplished lately.”

Just me, my hoodie,
and a growing list of things I pretend don’t exist