Finality

So I'm down to the last month, the final 31. Tonight's been very strange, it's starting to sink that this really is it for me. I was talking to a friend on the walk home from the rock club where most of my teenage years got played out (refitted, no longer smelling of smoke, but still the same shitty dive), and it struck me why this is different. It's the finality of it. The ending of the first quarter-century of my life in a very definite and distinct way. Before, with London, part of me always knew it was temporary. Even in St Albans, when I was busy playing grown-up and being miserable at the prospect, a small part of me knew that it wasn't right, that it was only temporary. This isn't the same.

I guess the reasons for it are that I'm not leaving for someone, or because of someone. I'm not driven by the prospect of being with a person and a glittering future with them, nor am I running from something that i couldn't resolve up close, this time I'm moving because...well, just because really. I'm going to a place I've visited once, for a week, almost half a decade ago. I'm going to a place where I don't know anybody at all, where the closest friend I have out there is someone who's voice I haven't even heard, to a house I've only seen in pictures. I should be more scared, more nervous, more...something. But I'm not. It just IS, and that's the end of it.

It feels like I've already left, and all I'm doing now is tying up the loose ends.