I’m struggling with endings.
I hate finishing books - that awful feeling when there’s no more story left and you have to return to your own world.
I hate the end of holidays and visits with friends or family - when you know your own life is waiting and the people you just left behind won’t be able to be in it much.
I hate the end of the summer, when you know it’s going to get dark and cold, and you realize you haven’t made the most of the sunshine - and the year’s almost over and you haven’t achieved as much as you told yourself you would have by now.
But actually, this year I’m alright. Externally I don’t seem to have moved an inch from where I was at the beginning of the year - but internally I’ve travelled thousands of miles, survived many adventures, and am a completely different person than I was when I started out.
It makes it feel easier to give myself some slack for not having made the most of life this summer.
It makes it feel a little less painful not to be able to be with all the people I miss so very much.
It makes it feel easier to close the book entitled 2018, and start the next one.