I wanted to drive past my own street and keep going for ten minutes

Dear Delyara, Not because I hate home. Because I was not ready to re-enter it as myself yet. Work had been too people-heavy. The traffic was bad. I’d had one unpleasant phone call with my sister and one message from school that I was already tired of before reading properly. By the time I turned into my road, I could feel how little of me was still buffered. For a second, I genuinely wanted to keep driving. Just long enough to not be immediately useful. I didn’t. I parked, carried the bags in, and became the evening version of me on schedule. But the thought stayed. I think it said something true about how quickly home can become duty when you are the one who holds so much of its rhythm together.