Sun, sea, sand.
I get too excited about going and too sad going home. The promise of a holiday motivates me, keeps me going, gives me something to look forward to, the build up is amazingly excitement.
Then the few days before all I can think about is the incoming holiday. The vacation I pack, excitedly, and dream of sun. Then the airport journey is exciting, getting there, being there, just the promise of sun-kissed skies soon. Wondering where everyone is going, the excitement in the air.
The holiday itself is like a dream, unreal. It is too good to be true.
The journey home is so awful, I cry and cry, I know I am lucky to have been but it doesn't change my depression over the fact that the holiday is over.
When I am finally home, I cry for weeks. It is stupid.
Holidays are the best time of my life. I live for them.
What can beat a holiday after all?
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