Home and leaving it.

So far I've harbored I kind of general disdain for the process of moving from my hometown to college.
Why, you ask?
It's not how much I'll miss everyone or thing that I've invested my time and love into for the past few years (though it's true that I will).
It's not because I'll miss my bed, or my dog, or my mom.
It's not even because I have the same dull sense of fear of the unknown lurking in the back of my head that everyone else continuing into their first year of college does (though it's true that I do).

It's because I'm just so entirely and unequivocally bad at goodbyes.
I can never seem to wrap my head around the fact that this is the last time I might see the person standing in front of me for a while.
And even if I could, what am I supposed to say?
"Yeah, I know that we've been thick as thieves and closer than cousins for the past couple of years, have more shared memories than space on a hard drive and know each other's parents better than our own distant relatives, but peace. It's been real." ?

...yeah, no.

Am I supposed to cry?
I'm just not a cryer.
I feel like just saying "goodbye" is insufficient.

So generally I do what I do best and I avoid things like a possum in the road at night (which has a very literal meaning for me, but that's another story.)
I just start to calculate as hard as I can in my mind "When, exactly, will I see this person again?"
And instead of thinking of some profound goodbye, I just promise to see or speak to them soon, or attend their cousin's-uncle's-mother's get together, etc. and then I walk away, putting off the actual parting to a later date.

Because honestly, that's just so much easier to do.

Moats and boats and waterfalls,
alleyways and pay phone calls,
I've been everywhere with you.

We laugh until we think we'll die,
barefoot on a summer night,
nothin' new is sweeter than with you.

Home, let me go home.
Home is wherever I'm with you.