Bournemouth nr 40: Goodbye

This is wrong.
It's not right.
I don't want to go.
I don't want to leave you.
I don't want to leave it,
deceive it.
I guess I didn't expect to feel.
I didn't expect I'd be sad for real.
 I'm holding on to the ones I can't get.
Holding on,
on the very last step.
Goodbye Bournemouth.
Thank you for every single thing.
Thanks for the hard times,
but more importantly for the good.
The way that I feel is
the way that I should.

Bournemouth nr 39: "Pretty soon I'll be getting on my first plane, I'll see the veins of my city like they do in space"

The last days have been stormy,
warm, sad, confusing at the same time.
Saying goodbye to people whom you don't know if you'll ever
see again is a painful process;
awkward and emotional all in one.
But the last few days have been beautiful also.
I've been cycling along the beach with a housemate three days in a row
in full sunshine, gone swimming in the sea and burned myself.
I had almost given up about going swimming here, but nope.
It happened.
I've also made myself a bad habit of going to bed at 2 am,
sleeping until noon and, today, walking around in the same
t-shirt as I slept in last night.
But I try to think it's ok.
Maybe it's just a part of the process of returning home?
Let's pretend so.
I started packing today.
It's almost a therapeutical process, packing,
going through all your luggage
(things you've brought and things you've bought),
throwing out the things you don't need and
keeping the things you still do.
I usually dislike packing,
but today it has proved to be quite comforting
in some strange way.
And, I really don't want to state clichés,
but this whole trip has gone by sooo faaast.
I find myself thinking "Wait, what?
It's been five months?!"
And yes, I've had slow days and
times when I only wanted to go home.
But now that I'm here, at the finish line,
I'm still convinced it's the beginning.