cut across the community center and walked quickly with eyes on the light

I have timed these lights. I know it takes a minute and thirty seconds from when the light on the other side of block turns green until this light ahead of me turns green. And I know they go clockwise.

So, I lift my left hand and tighten my grip on a bag of muffins and a roll aiming to participate in the upcoming race against the street-light clock. I exert a faster pace than I have in days because tomorrow is a monumental day and I have yet to pack.

I have yet to pack a suitcase to board my flight tomorrow. Yet to pack with the sincerest of reasons as to why I haven’t yet done so, so darling are these reasons that they carry my friend’s name. She came to my town and we talked as we always do for hours of her childhood in Ukraine and mine in the states, of dreams, of joy, of both falling the bathroom. We stir the banter until it’s ready to be cooked, and then we cannot part until sundown. It is true I walked to the station and the chatter became daily bread. The kind only a good friend can share with you.

Although I carried muffins, I was already happy. I was full.