It's strange to think that in a few days it will have been a month since I left the place I held so dear to my heart for nearly 18 months. How arbitrary time can be. And cruel. What seems like an eternity has not even been a full calendar month.
Isolation, or what feels like it, certainly does not help matter either. I suppose this is to be expected given the length of time I was away. I moved on with my life and so have those I left back home. Now that I've returned, however, I feel as though I'm grasping at straws trying to fit into the lives I left 4 years ago. Now, by no means did I have the silly misconception that it would be an effortless task to seamlessly move back into the rotation of daily life here in Northern Virginia. Nor did I kid myself with the idea that those abroad would have boundless free time at the exact moments I did. But this separation seems the hardest of them all. As if I'm stuck between a rock and an even harder place. In a limbo of sorts.
Perhaps, and hopefully, this anxious feeling of numbness with fade as time passes. I can only continue to tend to the relationships I have forged on both sides of the Atlantic and pray that others will do so for me. Some sense of "normalcy" will eventually conjure itself, but time must be given. Time drags when you are pining.
