Epilogue: A Long Time or a Short Time

It has been somewhere in the vicinity of 7-8 months since I have returned to America. I know that I have forgotten many things from my journey. Many of the things I never wanted to forget. Not the major things, the awesome things, like seeing the Eiffel Tower, conversing through a dinner in another language, or looking up for the first time at Parliament. (That last one was strange because we took the Tube to Westminster and the first bit we saw was the caged in bit as you exit the Tube, and we had to cross the street for a better view). Anyways, I feel like its the little things, the moment to moment seconds that make living, life. As a result, I feel like I spent several months of my life in a dream. A dream that I will never forget, but not necessarily something familiar to me.

The one thing I will never forget, though, is the attachment I felt. The way when I walked out of my flat every morning, I felt like I belonged. Was every minute of every day happy? No, but nevertheless, the city welcomed me, and I felt at home. When I returned to America, I was happy. Happy to see everyone I missed, and happy to have my own room, and happy to...umm...well... I fell like there is something missing here. It was hard for me to express because everyone was so happy to see me and wanted to hear story after story (which I gladly told in epic detail), but mostly because Alan feels at home here. And though he had a good trip, I don't think I could foresee him doing it again any time soon. He didn't really understand the burning in my heart to return. It was strange. And though I have returned to my normal life here, and I rarely think about my adventures in London and around the world, I cannot forget the feeling of home. And some day, I will go back. Maybe it won't be to stay (sigh), but I will go back again. For a great length of time. I will live my life there, if only for a short while. Because I can't let that feeling go. I won't.