And that goes for cities as well. As I sit here, crying a little bit about the thought of leaving Bath for what will be a very long time (and probably annoying all the other people in our room), I can't even begin to put into words what these past six months have done for me. Five months and nineteen days ago, I was sitting in my room, feeling a little sick and packing up all my belongings and wondering how on earth I would survive six months abroad. Not because I was afraid, but more because it just seemed like such a long time, and that was daunting.
Now, of course, I wish I could stay six more months. Don't get me wrong--I'm VERY excited to get home and see everyone, but there's so much here that I will miss so much it will hurt. The pound, tea time, Linley House, British accents, cider and black, pubs, the countryside... I could go on forever but I feel like I should stop typing so as not to be murdered by our hostelmates (we will, after all, be leaving at 2:30 am... yikes). So, five months ago, I said this:
I still am in a state called Denial. I can't believe I'm actually going. Once I'm there it might hit me. Although even then it's still likely that I think I'm dreaming.
And really, it all does feel like a dream. The best dream I've ever had, I'd say. Part of me still doesn't believe that it happened, that I am this lucky. But it did, and I am. So thank you a trillion times to everyone who made my experience what it was.
Bath, I love you. Cheers.
-LPRO
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