What If I’m Always The First To Leave?

Thought Catalog

It’s almost that time of year again, the one we’ve all had the misfortune of knowing intimately. Here comes another Leaving Season, I say to myself, and taste it in my morning coffee. Taste it in the way spring drops sunshine upon even the most persistent end-of-winter chill (a winter swan song, if you will), taste it in the nervous energy of everyone around you who knows it’s coming too. The Leaving Season brings back my bad habit.

When you care about someone whom you are about to irreversibly and indefinitely leave, are they real? When you make the acquaintance of someone who is about to disappear from your immediate reality, do they count? If there is an expiration date on human interaction, does it make it more precious or not at all? Upon the dawning of the Leaving Season, one is affronted with a major injustice: to choose if…

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