This isn’t the kind of leaving that needs a suitcase.
It’s the kind that needs softness.
Here are three things I carry when I know I’m stepping away from something I loved —
not forever,
but for long enough that I want to do it gently.
1. A Note to No One
Folded. Unlabeled. Written in a way only I will understand.
Something to leave behind — in a drawer, in a wall, in memory.
2. A Sound I Can Carry
A song. A bell. The way my cup sounded on the table that morning.
I hum it under my breath.
It reminds me I wasn’t just passing through. I belonged, too.
3. A Promise That Isn’t a Plan
“I’ll return.”
Not when. Not how.
Just — I will.
If the place is still listening.
Not every ending needs certainty.
Some just need tenderness.
So pack it softly. And leave like you’re still part of the place — just at a different distance.