Spontaneous prose by Ada J. Raven
Leaving home used to be exciting because I knew I would always return.
Today I know I’m not. When I leave it’ll be for good.
To make a new home, a new place to feel and be and create contentedness.
Alas, with the excitement comes a foreboding melancholy I can’t ignore.
It creeps upon me at night and taints my heart with blue sadness
freezing and consuming until the good is gone.
The mornings are warm again and I think I’m ready, but at night it creeps coldly as always and fills me with doubt.