It’s been almost three months since I’ve been back, and it still sucks to realize I’m not there anymore. I spent two weeks in the city, touring it, learning about it, living it. It was fantastic. Absolutely fantastic. Going there was a bit of a culture shock at first, but coming home was one, too, especially since I wasn’t ready. I thought I was ready; on the way home, I thought about how much I really wanted to see my family and my friends again. When I got home, however, and settled in, and spent some time with my family, I realized I was now missing my London family. It didn’t take long for me to realize that I wanted, more than anything, to go back. I look through my album sometimes just to torture myself, and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget a single moment.
We still see each other, and we still keep in touch (most of us; the ones that really matter, I guess), and the first night we met up back home, we went to The Pub, just for the English experience. :) I spent two weeks with these people, and being without them every day was like being without my arm (or, what I would imagine being without my arm would feel like). They are amazing, and I can’t imagine what my life would be like if I didn’t know them. The same as it had been, probably; fine and dandy. But I’d like to think that I’d feel like there was something missing.