How to say goodbye . . .

I don’t know.  But I must.  My flight leaves in 6 hours.  In 6 hours my life will be so completely, unfathomably different.  Not better or worse, really, just so different.  I pass crowds of people walking in the late afternoon sun, past women carrying heavy loads of wood on their backs, past bananas and tomatoes and carrots by the roadside, past huge trucks barreling by, past piles of sticks and rocks and rubble, past brilliant flowers and laughing children.  And I think, “This is my home . . . how can I leave my home?”

I long for a better home, my true home, the home of no goodbyes.