Orange tree

I got this orange tree when I first moved into Tim's house a couple years ago. I have tended it since then, and it has produced fruit and blossoms about 4 times. When the blossoms sprout, the whole house smells of something wonderful, and my spirits lift. This is my room today, one day before I am leaving and I have been thinking of life and death, and how moving is a little bit like dying. I will probably never sleep in this room again, never take another shower in my bathroom, never make coffee in my kitchen, never see this orange tree again. Then again, I will always have the option of coming back and visiting, something you don't get to do once you die (unless you believe in ghosts, which I suppose I would be a little bit like in this case). Is it any wonder we get sad when we move, the people and places we leave behind. A big part of me wants to stay, to try to make things better here, but then the other part of me that yearns for cafe lined streets, quiet bookstores, old growth forests, and the smell of roses outside tells me 'Don't be stupid, just go!!!' Last night Suzy called me and we spoke for a few minutes. The last thing she said to me was, "Many things in life that turn out great start with some element of fear" or something to that effect. If that's the case, this is going to be incredible.