I'm at an airport. My twelfth time in the last three months. I'm headed home with a heart as heavy as my luggage. In every parting, there is an image of death. I've had way too many partings way too close to each other.

I get attached very easily to places and things, and sometimes to people too. This morning, I said goodbye to the apartment I've called home for two years. When I am back in this city, in 4-5 months, I will find another apartment that I will fall in love with, and then give it up in 6-8 months. 

The last three weeks have been very stressful. I took tough decisions based on a pretense that I know what lies ahead. And I'm feeling very shitty right now.