I considered running away.
I consider a lot of things.
I rarely actually follow through with any of them.
Not anymore, anyway. Once, I’d have run. Once, I would have known exactly where to go. Once I could have gone there and it would be my sanctuary, my peace, my sanity.
I couldn’t go there anymore.
So I considered running away, but I never got past the garage.
Besides, people knew where I ran to now. So I didn’t really have a hideaway anymore. All I had to hide in was myself.
So I hid.
And I didn’t want to come out.