May 26th, 2018

Two months. Just two months until everything changes—

Until everything ends.

There will be the last time you and your friends go out together,

The last time you share stories of the night before with each other over one final breakfast,

The last time you watch a movie or tv show together on the same comforting couches you’ve molded to your bodies,

The last time you agonize over homework and school and the pressures of life after graduation in a study room together,

You’ll walk through the halls of the strangely painted building and you’ll know you won’t do it again, at least not in the same way, not with each other.

Pack the last box, paint over chipped walls, clean out the bathroom closet;

Things will end. There are going to be a lot of lasts.

A final call, a goodbye coffee, a I-can’t-believe-it’s-over-we-did-it hug.

These things don’t seem beautiful separately— in fact they’re quite confusing, jagged almost and they don't make sense when you experience them piece by piece.

But together—

Together they form a finished puzzle, a completion of the ending of something,

the ending of a part of your life.

Sadness will seep out of it, through the cracks and spill over onto your favorite shoes

But that's okay.

It’s supposed to be sad.

It’s supposed to be,

sad.

It’s supposed to be.

There will be a lot of promises—

I promise to call when we’ve finished packing and the apartment is empty.

I promise to call when I make it back home.

I promise to keep calling.

I promise to visit.

I promise that months from now, when everything is different, nothing will have changed.

You promise?

Yes— I promise.

Even though the phone might stop ringing,

The visits only exist in a realm of possibilities and contingencies— if this happens then I'll make it, yes we need to plan it and finally make it work, I'm sorry I don't think I can come but maybe instead you can?

Deflated expectations decorate the walls of your new home and

the excuses will pile up until you just simply stop communicating altogether—

it hurts too much to keep hearing different versions of the same no and

the ‘I’m sorry's are just reminders that something else was more important.

You and your friendship, no longer prioritized, your value depreciated beyond recognition.

You’ll be more alone than you’ve ever been and all you will be remembering is now, this moment, when you recognized the feeling of a crack forming in your heart as you walked, nearly ran, willingly toward the moment that will obliterate your frail cardiac muscle tissue completely.

“Will the graduating class of 2018 please rise…"

Two months. Just two damn months until all things familiar, safe, routine will come to an alarming end.

And soon, before you even notice it’s happening, these years will merely recede into a catacomb of memories, the ‘good ol’ college days,’ fading quickly in your rear view mirror as you ceaselessly and relentlessly continue on. Forward.