Crossing oceans.

I know that I've known for a long time. And had also readied myself for knowing that. But as days creep nearer, my heart messes me up.

It's too soon before we fly, leaving this country that I call "second home". Melbourne had been good, even great if you take lattes into account, but I guess it's really time to leave. I'll miss you, but I want to know what's in store for me across the seas. New life, new responsibility, maybe a newborn.

You know, I thought I can leave everything behind like a suave lover. "It's good while it lasted, but it's time to move on. Honey, we're over." I'll then pass a napkin for her to dab on the corner of her eyes and plant a kiss on her forehead before turning away, hands in pocket. I thought I can.

But lately, as I stand in front of my door, just before turning the keys, my heart ached. I miss you already, home. And not only that, I'll miss those ridiculous-early breakfast by my kitchen bench, miss the temperamental weather that wrecked us up, miss the number 8 tram that took us to dates, miss the girls and boys that I don't even know when would be the next time we meet; yes, I think it'll take a little more than goodbye to bid farewell this time.

A mere two weeks left and I'll officially remove all traces that I've ever been in Melbourne for the past 7 years. All that's left are memories, which in faith, shall be kept intact. Hereforth, the updates you see from missy will be from another land, no longer musings at dawn in my little home in Melbourne. I thank you all deeply for patiently following my footsteps the years past. I shall hopefully recreate familiarities when I'm settled in my new home.

So, patience, the missy asks again; patience for her holla from Oslo.