It’s our last night in L.A.
The usual end-of-trip depression has already set in, as I walk around saying goodbye to this little house, which I’ve come to think of as “home” over the past few weeks, and which I’ll, in all likelihood, probably never see again. (Not because we’re never coming back, of course, just because when we do, we quite possibly won’t be able to rent the same property. I get ridiculously sentimental about leaving places I’ve been happy in. I almost go into mourning.) And every time I write about coming home, people say the same thing. They all say, “Oh, it’s good to go away, but it’s always good to come home, too!” But I’ve never, ever felt like that, so all I feel is sad as I soak up these last few rays of sun, and look back over the last three, fantastic weeks. I can’t believe this trip, which I waited so long for, and planned for so meticulously, is already on the brink of being just a memory.
It’ll be a wonderful memory, though.
And it’s one more night in Hollywood
…and if you think you might come to California,
I think you should.
~ Counting Crows, A Long December