This empty room no longer speaks of me. In a few days, someone else will call it their own. It will be filled with their sounds, images, ideas. All I’m leaving behind, a few stains and blue tac marks on the walls. Eventually, these, too, will be painted over.
Lesson No1: No matter how intense your existence, time will wipe off your footprints in the end.

Soon, I’ll be in a different room, one that’s both familiar and strange. Surrounded by Tolkien posters and anarchist signs, I’ll breath in the bittersweet smell of childhood memories. I will rediscover my magic chest of forgotten treasures: letters, postcards, notebooks. I’ll lie down on the bed where I had sex for the first time (thinking, “I could have done this myself”’).
Lesson No2: People come and go, furniture remains.

So am I running away? Perhaps.
Let’s say I’m going because I have no true reason to stay. Never cared much about my career, never lured by the promise of success. Yes, I do have a dream, only I vowed to keep it secret years ago. (My vows still had some weight. I was nine).

Facing the future can hardly be postponed anymore, but first we must deal with the past. A long and dangerous process; still, a voice in my head keeps telling me we shall be allright, after all.
Lesson No3: Optimism represents humanity’s oldest means of ensuring continuity; occasional flirting with its artificial reality is a prerequisite for staying alive.