Goodbye.

…such a simple word for something that is so far from simple. How could seven little letters possibly tell the whole story?

Goodbye just doesn’t seem to do the experience (or the people) to which (or whom) you are saying goodbye justice.

Goodbye is too short. Just two syllables and it’s all over. It’s too quick — especially when quick is actually the opposite of what it (the people, the places, the moments, the experience…everything) was.

I wonder who decided that the word “goodbye” would be enough to represent what it actually means. And when are goodbyes actually good?

I have a tendency to to prolong goodbyes. I’ve been saying goodbye to Boston for several weeks now. Some people might think that this would make the transition even more difficult, but for me, it has helped ease the discomfort of the change. It has allowed me to take time appreciating everything (and everyone) I love before having to actually leave this city. And it has allowed me to start coming to terms with the final goodbye, the final moment when my bags are packed and I drive off into the sunset towards my new life. I know it may seem silly and a bit dramatic, but please try to excuse me as I perpetuate and romanticize this goodbye. Because for me, seven letters just aren’t enough.

“How can you leave this place?”

As soon as the words hit my eardrums, I can feel the tears forming in my eyes…again.

Tears are seem to be pretty standard for me these days.

“Seriously, how can you leave this place? I couldn’t leave even if I wanted to.”

Such questions seem to be the basis of all my conversations and thoughts these days. I’m in a constant roller coaster pattern. Happy, sad, confused, sad, happy, confused.

I’m leaving Boston. Even as I type the words it doesn’t seem real. How can it be real? I love it here. I love everything about it. Okay, fine, I don’t love everything. Hence the reason(s) I’m leaving. I don’t love my job. I don’t love that most of my family and friends are hundreds of miles away. But I do love Boston. I love, love, love Boston.

Again, I’m experiencing heartbreak because of a place. This is my third heart-wrenching breakup with a place. The first was Antwerp. The second was JMU. And now Boston.

My breakup with Antwerp was the worst. I stayed depressed for an entire month. All I wanted to do was rewrite my journal – seriously, I rewrote every single word – and look at my photographs from the experience. I tried to cling to the moments. I just couldn’t let go. In fact, I don’t think I ever completely let go. My heart still hurts when I think about it.

My breakup with JMU wasn’t quite as bad. Don’t get me wrong, I still consider JMU to be the happiest place on Earth. But when it was time to say goodbye, I was mostly ready to move on. And I knew that my new adventure in Boston was just around the corner.

And now, I’m breaking up with Boston. For some reason, it seems different this time. So please, be patient with me, as I explore this transition. Please allow me to take my time (warning: it may take awhile) saying goodbye to Boston and opening my mind up to the possibilities of my future A.B. [After Boston]…

Almost officially over.

The very thought sends a sharp stab throughout my stomach, throughout my head, throughout my entire body, actually.

The paper sits lifelessly at the corner of my desk. It isn’t really asking me to sign that line which represents the end. But just it’s very presence makes me nervous. I am aware of it lingering. Not just the piece of paper. But everything the paper symbolizes as well.

Now it’s all different. It isn’t just in my head. The paper represents the reality. Is it best to just do it quickly? Fast and in one motion so it’s less painful? Like pulling off a band-aid.

Is this what it feels like to get a divorce? It must be similar. So much meaning in just a quick signature. It doesn’t really seem fair, does it? How can a signature – or a pair of signatures – possibly tell the whole story? How can it possibly be that simple?

The paper remains. Waiting? Waiting for me to massage gently it with the tip of my pen. So easy. In theory. But I can’t quite bring myself to face it yet. I know the end is just around the corner, but I can’t quite bring myself to admit that wholeheartedly. I can’t acknowledge it. Not yet. Soon. But not yet.