I have no more than three weeks left here in Virginia and i can tell there will be a melancholy scarf to hang on my neck; which i find odd in a small way. There wasn't a lot i did here, or accomplished, in fact most of if was idle time, but i think i might have stumbled on what it is that paints the bittersweet departure. When i "graduated" 8th grade and was ready to move on to High School, i remember on the last day of Elementary school i was excited, looking forward to school after summer had finished and my childhood freedom was once again returned to the state. As i walked home i made sure to not look back, somehow this little act at that young age was a trend i would continue for awhile intentionally or not, but there in the late June sun i told myself to not look back at what had been my first two years of living in a new town, where i made new friends and started my life in said town for the next 20 years.
When high school had ended and i made the walk back to the very same house i returned to after 8th grade, i didn't look back at the grounds then either. But both times there was a sting of regret, happiness, confusion, and zeal; which i have come to learn is simply described as: bittersweet. When i left California, my family, and my friends a little over a year ago no such sting showed, for i had made sure to squeeze out every enjoyment with everyone in the 6 months before i left; i didn't just left the golden years go by unbeknownst, i knew i was in them. So for my final days in California there was no need to look back, i didn't even think about it, my excitement to get on the plane and land in my new home was a pull strong enough to leave all longing at the sliding door that lead into the airport.
But now, with only three weeks left before i leave Virginia, possibly forever, i can detect that excitement and particular sadness that comes with knowing that life and I will be moving on and i know why. When i left 8th grade and high school i knew there would be a good number of people that i would never in my life see again. And there is someone here in Virginia that has a high probability i may never see again. That is Chantelle, my surrogate sister. The women i have known to close to eleven years and have i lived with for nearly more than half that time. The sting is back, knowing one of the few women that i love with no sexual intent but purely as devoted protection, may leave my life. Sure, we will my stay in contact but we both know in a room next to each other sharing words, laughs and insults is our truest form.
To be absent from that presents of someone i feel at ease around is a lose not so great as to cry, but smile as i lament the possibility there may never be a time again when we are shoulder to shoulder judging our immediate world in front of us just for the laughs. When her and i say our farewells, the world will be a little less funny.