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I've left, but not entirely

I've left
but not entirely.

I keep stealing glances over my shoulder,
only to see through the mist,
vaguely,
and slowly disappearing,
the image of a life I had to leave behind.

Why do i still leave a trail of crumbs?
When I know I am to cross a ravine
and I won't be going back to pick up the trail.

They beckon me to go,
I await a more exciting adventure ahead of me
Yet,
why this reluctance?

My feet takes me away,
and I steal glances backward,
only to see them waving me off on my journey.

Life goes on.
Three simple words.

How can I be happy if I have regrets?
Said one.

I tell myself, no, this is not regret.

Rather,
I just left,
but not entirely.

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