Last night I met with Maria and Manolo for the last time, and as I walked away and said "Hasta pronto" to them it finally hit me that I wasn't coming back. We weren't going to make arrangements to meet with them next week, and I wasn't going to see them again in this wonderful atmosphere. Tears started rolling down my face, and I held it together for my walk home. I surprisingly didn't cry that much, it's especially surprising for me because I cry a lot. For some reason, this just doesn't seem real. I don't feel like I'm getting on a plane tomorrow, if I think about it, my stomach just turns into knots. So I guess thinking about leaving isn't an option for me.
Today we're all going to eat some cake in the park today, and enjoy our last time in the park together. I will probably go out for one last set of tapas and then head to bed. I will probably cry, but who knows, because I've been surprisingly stone faced about this whole thing. I guess I won't realize that I've gone until I'm home in my own bed and thinking about everything I've done.
