A Love Letter to Edinburgh

Time is oh so strange. And its strangeness always seems to hit me out of the blue.

One minute, I am fully present, embracing the vibrance of the happy moment I find myself in, dancing to the music that has come to feel like home. And the next, I am walking through the meadows at midnight, in the misty rain, as tears run softly down my face.

The last full moon of the decade is somewhere up above, hidden by the dark fog that fills the whole sky. This is when I finally understand it: the magnitude of the love I have for this city, my newfound community, and the little life I’ve built for myself here.

In a world full of lonely mysteries, temporary promises, irreversible tragedy, and lost magic, it’s an exceptionally beautiful thing to feel like you belong somewhere.

This sadness I am feeling, does not come from a perceived uncertainty about whether I will return after my imminent departure, for I trust that I will bring myself here time after time. Instead, this sadness comes from the realization that never again will my life look exactly like it does right now.

Perfect in its imperfection, and unique to this time and place. Everything is changing, and there is no going back. The wheel of time moves in only one evident direction.

The funny thing is, I know I’ve felt like this before. Each time, at the end of an era and the beginning of a new adventure. And each time, I find that life goes on, as it does, and I eventually come to notice that I am more than okay again.

Because I am alive, truly, and grateful to be. And I am simply experiencing the pain and the beauty that makes living what it is.

So this is my goodbye for now. I love you, Edinburgh. Thank you for the memories.