Traveling.

A certain Sunday morning
I got up, serenely, from the bed
decided to leave out by the window
packed my blankets well
remembered to turn off
all the scheduled alarms forever
and deactivated all social media accounts
propped myself on the bed
fixed the center of the foot
at the windowsill
climbed up
looked outside
then looked over at my palms
and at the back of my hand
saw wrinkles
traced meandering lines with my other hand
put my foot down
picked up and gazed intently and fondly
at the hourglass gifted to me
years ago, preserved right at the bedside table
sand still sifting through it eternal
found my way back to the closet
booked last minute flight tickets
packed my bags
and left.