Closing statements

“A squat grey building of only thirty-four stories…”

…sits alone, and quietly, on the corner of 7th and Jefferson.
Okay, it’s yellow.
And it only has two above-ground stories.

Being the last one here, out of five roommates, in a three story house, that you’ve lived in for nearly a year now, feels very strange. It’s surreal, it’s unnatural, it’s lonely, it’s free. It’s scary to sit here knowing that I’m the only one here, and that when normally non-present roommates would be coming back in a matter of hours at the most, that isn’t the case now.

No one is coming back.
Not alone.
Not until it’s time to completely leave.

It’s like a chapter of my life is closing. Usually the end of the school year is just, “Uhh, whatever. I’m out of here.” But I really loved this year. It was long, somewhat boring at parts, and arduous or dramatic at others—but I loved it. I wouldn’t have done it any differently, at all, ever. I’m happy with the friends I’ve made, and with the ones I’ve lost; the important friendships got closer, the poor ones dissipated.
AKKLS. I’m proud to know you all.

I’m proud of what I’ve learned, and who I’ve further developed into.

Ah, I miss it already.
Thanks 2009-2010. You’ll remain burned into my soul as “a good year”.


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