The thing that pains me most about leaving home is leaving my parents. The melancholia of the situation - of my coming and then going, of the gulf that will be between me and them when I am back in Cambridge - and my unwillingness to properly face it render words almost impossible. I have no words for this, just some pain in the throat, some wetness in the eyes, and my survival instinct wrestling back control, pushing this aside.
You will get used to it, says my survival instinct. You will adapt, you will survive. You will get used to it.
I will get used to it, like I have done before, time and time again.
