about last times

I recently caught myself in the middle of the self-induced 'last times' crisis. knowing that I'm moving on from my life in Bath in no time, I've been feeling like my world is falling apart and the only way to stop it is to do everything one more time. the last time.

but why do we rush to do things 'for the last time' once we know we are leaving? why do we think that we will enjoy that cup of coffee, that glass of wine or that cake that we haven't even had yet so much more if we know it's the last time having it as a rightful local? we seem to think that now we will appreciate and indulge into these experiences so much more, like we should have every single time before. but the problem is, when we already know it is the last time, we are not there. we are not actually present - in our minds, we are already away. but we still do it because it allows us to later feel nostalgic and in the wrong place. 

leaving a place that one belongs to is hard. every goodbye seems to eat you a little bit from the inside, and makes you feel like you are picking up leftovers of something you used to call home. but what if we took off just like that, knowing that the last times happened when we did not know they would be the last ones? when we just allowed our life to happen and lived it with both feet on the same side.