it's not goodbye, it's aurevoire

It's not goodbye. Soon I'll see her face in France again, maybe in fall, maybe in winter.

But everytime my mother and I split ways, we hold our breaths. How long will it be until we feel the ease of each others company again? It's never too long, but months are months, and sometimes they pass slowly. And when all you need is the comfort of the others touch, the ocean seems far too large.

Soon she'll be flying back across the Pacific to Vancouver, and soon I'll be on a train to Paris.

My life feels unreal at times like this. There are times I feel nomadic, homeless, happy and yet confused by the life I've made for myself.

I listen to a song about a girl who's only happy in the sun, who only knows hellos and goodbyes, and I feel as if I'm being sung about.

Could I inspire you enough to write a song about me? I'd like to have the ability.

My train of thought is moving faster than the overnight train my mother is on right now, hopefully nestled into her couchette and snoring into the night.

I listen to music, I clean the house, I go to the bar, I write, I think and I write.

I suffer slightly in a relationship that will soon come to an end. Knowing it is too much and yet not enough for me. I can hardly handle it when perfection becomes tainted, and romanticized eyes turn away from me. When I crave passion, desire and emotion, but receive a soft kiss on the lips instead.

Are you following me? Probably not. But follow me to Paris. Soon. I promise to get my thoughts together and to make it a journey worth taking.