If someone would have told me, that I’d be curled up in bed, staring out over farm fields, crying---I wouldn’t have believed you. This is really hard; I was doing so well and then, these emotions, they just couldn’t be packed up neatly like my things.
I know I can’t stay here, I know it, but it doesn’t make it any easier. Life is simpler here, uncomplicated. No one is weighing me down, no problems are chasing me, no heartache is eating away at me. I’m free here. Free. Light. I don’t want to give that up.
I wish you were here, I need that look.
Home seems foggy right now. I keep trying to envision getting off the plane, but I can’t. It bothers me that I can’t imagine home. I keep asking myself the same question, will I be able to go back? Go back...and be happy? It scares me that I don’t know.
I guess it’s because I was in a different state of things when I left, and now I feel really, painfully, genuinely happy. So happy I’m afraid it’ll be taken away. I’m having a moment of fear. I know it’s just a moment, I believe that.
How, how did home become a question mark? I’m nervous. Ashamed that I’m nervous because I know the people I love more than anything are waiting for me. I think once I hear your voices, these fears will go away. It’s hard, not hearing you when I need some reassurance. Home, a hand over mine.
I’m exhausted from goodbye...in desperate need of a hello and a familiar smile.
PS: Don’t hold this against me when I’m smiling so much my face hurts on Saturday.
PPS : I know that I should be embracing my new calm, collected Spanish alter ego. Happy and grateful for this opportunity--looking forward to the unknown and all the wonderful parts about going home. I write it and I feel slightly better, now if I could just believe it. Leaving would be so much easier if I didn’t have to do the goodbyes. Those are the worst. I need to hit the ground running, smiling while I’m at it.
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