The End

Wherever I go, it seems it will always be there. Whether behind the counter at my usual bar or the edge of my bed. A suitcase filled with everything I’ll ever need so ready to be taken away, so ready to go on. And my mind can’t help but refrain myself from leaving, for I know if I leave I will wonder about all the things I’ve left to see. Then I shall finally let life do its departing.

In my mind, a poem.

Memories in my wake
The world forgetting
Doubt lingers; imprisoning or detaining
So is it really dying?
Ostensibly so is my life and death.

—By Lila N., 16, Indonesia