“Runaway” — Alice Munro

I want to escape - escape from the city, from people, even from the past.

I want to escape from the current city, from every city I’ve ever stayed in, like crawling out of a dark, looming tomb. I want to escape from this country, though I don’t know to which country.

I want to escape from my parents, from relatives and friends, to a place where no one knows me - like walking away from heaven, like ascending from hell. I wish I didn’t need to speak, that the soil and flowers would understand my intentions, or perhaps nothing needs to be understood at all.

Yet, I haven’t escaped. I don’t know how to let go, and my heart lacks purpose. Perhaps I just want to escape, but have never thought about how to do it.

Or maybe, I don’t know what I’m trying to escape from. How can I know where to escape to when I don’t even know where I stand?

Or perhaps, I’m just filled with hatred - hatred for others, and hatred for myself.

I just hate the part of myself that refuses to change, wanting to escape from myself without knowing what kind of person I want to become.

To avoid entangling others, I think I need to escape.