I leave Dublin in approximately 36 hours and find myself resisting packing. It's one of those things I don't particularly enjoy anyway, but I didn't expect the emotions to come so freely and so painfully. I look around this tiny flat and find little memories that I didn't anticipate lingering in my mind. I didn't realise leaving would feel so strange.
In some ways, I feel like I was just getting settled during this past month, finally feeling at home in Dublin. I guess that makes sense because it coincided with feeling settled in my work. Perhaps this connection is part of the pain I feel in my heart. This city (and this country) feels like a creeping vine that has worked its way into my heart and made a pretty little home there. I don't know if it will survive the distance.
Meanwhile, the minutes keep passing and my bags will not pack themselves. So I finish this journey as it began: alone and ambitious, hurting and hopeful, loved yet lonely.
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