“You are sunlight, smoke rings, and cigarettes…outlines and kisses for silverscreens.” That’s from The Civil Wars’ song, Tip of My Tongue. Isn’t it pretty? It says, “I can’t touch you” in the nicest sort of way.
I’m having a hard time believing I’m not in London. Just Saturday I hadn’t even begun packing, was making tea in the morning, looking out the window of our servant’s quarters apartment at the crazy clear view that springtime had brought us. I was spending days with the most amazing Brit who I already miss like crazy. It didn’t seem like I’d ever be sitting here, in my own sunroom – easily bigger than at least three of our bedrooms in the flat, and it certainly seemed farther away than three calendar days.
Except I’m here, at home, in North Carolina. I’m still on London time; I can feel it because it’s only 11 PM and the insides of my eyelids hurt from being up right now, but I’m trying to get back acclimated to my normal schedule and that means staying up a bit late-ish.
I’m staying busy, or trying to. I’ve got lists of things to do, and work, and school stuff, all of which screams for my immediate attention. My sister has softball games, tons of them, and being back at one this Monday was great, amazing even.
I want to write. I don’t know what…well, I know what, but I’m not quite sure how to say it at the moment.
I’m rambling. I’m tired. This is transitioning out of the travel-sort of blog that it was while I was abroad, at least for the time being (God- and luck- and fate-willing, I’ll be abroad again in a little over a year).
Can’t keep my eyes open anymore, have to crash.
Love from the states.