It has become hard to hide the sadness of my upcoming departure, for both of us. We have little more than one week left, and the closer it gets the worse it feels.
When I moved here, I knew he was following me in a month; there was an end time to my loneliness. Now there is only a 4-day trip in November to absorb the shock, but unfortunately the shock is too big to be contained. There is no specific return date, no red-crossed day in my calendar meaning “he’s coming!”.
I wish I could say we’ll make the best out of this last week, but there is my defense, and packing, and moving into his apartment for two days and me taking a plane that I don’t really want to take. I will cry when I cross the security gates; I will cry while waiting to embark; I will cry through the 1.5 hours flight taking me just across the mountains to my new but solitary home.
I have no idea when it will end. There will be much emotion to channel into work, and I do hope to use it well, but I’d rather he was with me. No matter how obvious the choice is, no matter how much I need to do this in order to stop being a student and start becoming a professor, I’m leaving my heart here with him.