The last eight weeks

The last time I hugged a building's walls and cried took me fourteen years of childhood and attachment to get there.

This time it's taken me three.

Walls have gone from yellow to blue, uniforms disappeared and laughs become louder.

Hugs are more generous. And you'd find happiness and despair in abundance.

Right now for instance, I dunno what emotion I'm, well, emoting.

A whirlwind in three years, from people to alcohol stories to heartbreak. I've spent three years in the same corridors, with the same people, gone from eighteen to twenty one, yet I'm getting out of this place three years younger. With a hundred less judgements and a million less rigidities.

So for all the friends you've given me, the countless good lunch breaks, the gazillion odd lunches here and there, and the way you've shown me this city - thank you Jabier's. For the passive smoking and the good conversations, kudos to you, Back Gate. I'll forever be indebted to you.

I leave, forever to return to you. Nothing beyond.