Thirty-something days. That's how I'm trying to see it. Not one month, because when a period of time only has a one in front of it, that means it's coming to an end. My May 14th departure seemed so much father away when there was a 4 or a 3 or even a 2 before the word "months", but unfortunately April is here, meaning May is next.

Recently I've been feeling a weird mix of nostalgia, which I'm sure anyone who has ever fell in love with multiple places in the world can understand. I'm looking forward to returning to APU, home, Mexico, and other places I've left my heart, but those feelings of excitement are being clouded by the terribly painful knowledge that returning to the places I love means leaving the place that I've come to love. I've had trouble finding a way to express how I was feeling until I read Caroline Calloway's last Facebook post and she summed up my emotions perfectly: "Sometimes I wish that to return somewhere you didn't also have to leave.” It’s been a weird day, and all that I’ve gotten from it is that I would do anything to slow down time or be able to get another 4 months here in Sevilla again. 

 This sucks.

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