more to say

I'm a person of hellos and goodbyes, as in they always mean more to me than they probably should, but when chapters of my life end (and they seem to end a lot when you're on the brink of adulthood) things start to haunt me.

I'm getting ready to leave Spain, and I find that the plazas haunt me. The tight streets haunt me. My bedroom haunts me. The blooming trees outside seem to bend at the hands of the ghosts of things that I leave done and undone. Maybe it's silly, but I can almost feel it in my bones. I am saying goodbye to Spain, and it is saying goodbye to me. It is withdrawing, like the color from summer roses. It is moving on to new students and new adventures that I will not know. I am going back to what I knew before Spain, and so is Spain going back to what it knew before me. But the emptiness in between, this familiar looking limbo, is a weird place to live.

Maybe I'm just still creeped out by The Spirit of the Beehive. But maybe this is real.