Closing Time

Less than a month separates me and Terminal Four.

I don't really know how I'm feeling.

There's a part of me that absolutely thrilled to be going home. I'm ready for the bitter winter that North Carolina always delivers; I'm ready for the inevitable running hugs that my family will receive from me; I'm ready for my bed, my comforter, my pillow, my familiarity that I've missed over the last two months.

Sleep isn't really something that concerns me anymore, so I've found that losing myself in reading and writing and running along the rainy pavement of the Southbank is a better way for me to pretend I'm not a live zombie. Most of the time it's just me going through the motions - wake up (or just get out of bed, sleepless), go to class, hop on a random bus and find a cheap cafe to eat lunch in, and then go home. My schoolwork is just a steady stream of essays that seems to grow more and more intimidating the longer I put them off.

(Which is what I'm doing right now.)

That being said, I still can't bring myself to be excited to be leaving this city. I've seen things that I know I'll never be able to experience again in my lifetime. These last few months and everything I've seen and heard and felt have kind of solidified my hope to relocate here, either temporarily or permanently. In this lifetime, I want to call this place my home. In this lifetime, I want to feel homesick for this place.

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