When I was fifteen, I ran away from home.
I had no idea where I was going. I just snatched my dad’s rusted old sports bike from our ramshackle shed and pedalled as fast as my legs could manage. My ears were ringing from the argument. Blood pounding in my head and adrenaline coursing through my body. I cycled through town and out onto the coastal road, towards the darkening western sky. Before long, I reached the cliffs. I leaned the bike against a post and snagged my jeans climbing over the barbed wire fence. I approached the edge of the world, the drop into oblivion. Paused… then sat, hugging my knees into my chest, and burst into tears.