Anna de Paris

Anna is leaving.
She had been gone for about five or so days, Hannah and I were worried.
She is going back to Paris and coming back next year.
I think it is really brave to decide that; to be able to evaluate ones state and realize that perhaps the obvious road is not the one to be taken, or not to be taken at the moment.
I just came back from visiting her. We talked on the ground in front of her porch, and she was getting frustrated at herself, that she couldn't formulate her thoughts, that she couldn't process what was being said. She would start a sentence and then stop, and then bring her eyebrows together in internal pain and frustration. I do not think I have ever seen a person so thoroughly exhausted. So Hannah and I led her inside to sleep.
I met her parents. Anna said something in French and her father asked me if I knew what it meant; it was something along the lines of lighting strike. Referring to the type of love she has for me. Hannah was given a book, and we made small talk about a plant that is to stay in America, the fact that my camera signified my photo interests, on Hannah and me informing Anna of the pitfalls we encounter so that she can avoid them. When her mother and I introduced ourselves to each other, she recognized my name; I had been mentioned. Which is strange to think, since Anna and I, while instantly friends, have only had a couple of brief conversations.
The French really are passionate.
So I am in a strange state now: happy that she will rest, and find her peace, and made a decision when some decision clearly needed to be made. But for more obvious reasons sad. I was hoping to see her throughout the year, to get to know her-a process which will now have to start in the form of letters rather than conversation.
I will reflect on the other things that have happened in the past week later (for stuff has happened, photos have been created), but not now.