My mama said I need to come home before I vaporize. She may have a point.

While talking to Courtney yesterday, I suggested that leaving France is like dying slowly. (To this, she responded, "Now's the time to write!"). You see, when speaking French, I already feel myself losing words and the American accent shows itself once again. But we're okay. I heard that the French never goes away entirely. It just a matter of shaking it awake from time to time.

I, also, talked to Sunny yesterday (she's my "stuffed" rabbit--although she doesn't much like that term). I said, "Sunny, it's alright, you're gonna see Pat soon." At that moment, oddly enough, I felt a weight lifted off my chest. I hadn't said anything to Sunny in a good long time. And I certainly hadn't thought of Pat or Mr. Bean or any other furry friends. If I had, they were simply my "stuffed" animals, not the friends I know them to be. Shocking, I know. So, while this year is unforgettable, an experience full of color, taste, and poetry, I feel as if I slipped into the adult world.

I saw Monsieur Mont Sainte-Victoire on Saturday from a distance at dusk. His voice softly rumbles through grasses and pines. I hope it can travel over oceans, too.