The Paris Blues

This summer, several girls came to stay at the house with Dominique and me. One came from Barbados, one from France, three from America, and one by one, they've all gone home. The last, an American, left this morning. I got up to say goodbye to her at about 7, and went back to sleep. When I woke up "for real" at about 10, I went downstairs to see if she'd left anything behind. She did what they all do--left her leftover shampoo and conditioner, those personal products that didn't fit in the bag. In the kitchen, she'd left her granola bars and spaghetti and rice and she'd written my name on all of them.
I went back to my room, and I started missing all those girls who came through here this summer. None of us really had spent very much time together or become those best friend forever types, but all of them meant a lot to me.
One of the girls, Lexi, had lived with us for several weeks and then moved into Paris for a language study. Even though she wasn't at the house, we had the chance to meet up in Luxembourg Gardens or go to lunch and a movie. We met for the last time about a week ago, and then, the day after, she flew home. I miss being able to take the train into the city to see her.
Another, the girl from Barbados, kept a lot to herself, but every night, she'd come into my room to say "Hi-ya"--something I've never heard people actually say--and she'd ask if I'd watched any more episodes of our mutual TV show. We'd bicker about who was acting ridiculous and get excited about the lives of other characters. I'm still watching an occasional episode, but it's always bittersweet with her gone.
It's suddenly hit me that summer is more or less over. And now that everyone is gone, I feel really alone. Being left behind is hard.
Maybe it's because the day is rainy and cold and this house feels really big now, but I feel homesick.