It’s over. Really truly…

It's over. Really truly over. Utterly inappropriate fragments of poems running through my head -- "They were my north, my south, my east, my west, / My working week and my Sunday rest, / My moon, my midnight, my talk, my song; / I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong."

Wandering through the dorm this morning was hard. Woke up at five and packed. Breakfast by the fountain with Alex (and later Leah). Back to say more goodbyes. Goodbye goodbye goodbye. Rob looked shattered. He's going back to France -- so far away. If any of you are English-speaking writers living in France, let me know, okay? He's so isolated there. I was too stressed to cry. Just felt ill. Wound up so tight. I was envious of those (Ceej, Nancy, Leah...) who were crying. Tried to give Alex a copy of my book, and he insisted on buying it, supporting my work. Silly, stubborn Brit. A stranger moved into Barbara's room, an old man. How dared he? Almost broke down when Bob hugged me in the elevator, as we were seeing Leah out. Held together all the way to the airport, later. Read and slept on the plane, trying not to think. Have been alternating between glad to be back and desperately missing them ever since.

I'm going to try not to inundate you with weepiness over the next week or so, but bear with me. This will take some time to assimilate. I keep thinking I hear their voices -- in the airport, down the hall.

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