I can feel it, a small, almost imperceptible shift as my vowels start to round themselves out in preparation for my return.
On Thursday night, during dinner, I called the other place “home”, quite accidentally.
Last night, that “home” word slipped out in favour of that other place, again.
But I’m only there for eight months as the Home Office demand that I leave when my visa expires.
I wonder what I will call “home” when that day comes?