Illusions are but a handy tool
I stepped off the plane, thanking the skies for the upteenth time that the sun would shine as I returned. My hand itched for my phone, but I steeled myself not to call – we said our goodbyes as best we could, there was no point in trying to change that. So I pocketed my phone, useless as it was: there wasn’t a single person in the city who knew when I arrived or when I should arrive, much less anyone who cared. (No, my boss does not count.)
I spent my way home trying hard not to cry.
Before I went home, I had convinced myself that no one, not even myseld needed to know I would only be gone for two weeks. Parting ways is much easier if it’s inevitable, even if you have to fool yourself into believing that.
This time, trying to keep myself afloat, I decided I would be as if newly arrived. I’m not at the point of denying my past two years here (I do deny from time to time that I speak English, though), but if anyone asks, I tell them I’m playing at being new in town.
And I play the part well.