Last days, slowly rolling by, mind and body unwilling to move, waiting for the inevitable. All roads lead back home.
Trying to think back, to put it all in little memory boxes, and store them in my mind forever. I'm rubbish at remembering specific events, and instead I remember blurry feelings, remember feeling good at the side of the road in Argentina waiting for someone to pick us up, it felt good next to that river, next to the train tracks, in our friends' house. It also felt sad, lonely, and confusing quite often. It was confusing watching the world go by in Bolivia, trying to understand why the world is the way it is, how much is each and everyone's fault, trying to not feel guilty, to make myself feel more guilty, to just try and enjoy it. Trying to feel less like a tourist, and also less like a ponce who likes the word "traveler" too much.
Wow.
I hate goodbyes.
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