Avant mon départ, brune m’a donné des fleurs, et elle a dit “à toute à l’heure, ‘cottie.” Maintenant, je suis à la gare, je pleure. France va me manquer, tu vas me manquer
The past week has been such a blur. No sleep, anxiousness, papillons, some tears, honest words, an overwhelming and sweeping bittersweet. I want to remember every second of it. I didn’t expect to cry when I said goodbye to my host family, my rock pendant les derniers cinq mois. I realized, however, Alix’s distance from me as we parted our ways, and I’m sure her nine-year-old heart knew. I unsuccessfully choked back tears as we waved goodbye. And as I type this, they return. The train ride from Rennes was spent wiping my cheeks en écoutant des enregistrements encore et encore. Now, I sit in the Berlin airport wondering what the hell is going to happen next. These past few months have been surreal, especially these past few weeks, days. I was in such denial about leaving, and now that I have, I don’t even know what to feel. I can’t even begin to be excited about going home because there is just too much confusion and ache. Signs are everywhere in German and it hurts every time I remember I won’t be speaking French anymore, not like I was. I won’t be able to read Sixtine a bedtime story or scoop up Brune in my arms or ask Alix to explain a word or phrase to me. God, I am going to miss them. I’m surely going to miss it all.