Now, as an adult with a permanent address and a key that fits only one lock, I sometimes miss the weightlessness of those years. I have accumulated things: books that gather dust, clothes that never get worn, a closet full of “what ifs.” But deep down, I still pack light. When disappointment comes — and it always does — I hear my mother’s voice folding the world into neat squares: C’est la vie. Such is life. And such a life, however portable, is still worth living fully.
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