The places are innocent. They don’t do anything.

But the people and the way they shape them…

I can’t watch how they live. I don’t want to be watched. I can’t be part of their lives—so different from mine—and still smile, still be kind. Fake. Or not pretend anything, be truthful—cruel.

It’s not their fault. I agreed.

But as long as what I’m after remains out of reach, there won’t be a right place.

I leave again.