We run out of the auditorium
screaming, shrieking,
finally free.

We walk through the woods
to the pond
near our school
where we will spend
the last day of sixth grade.
(Though hasn't it been summer for weeks already?)

After sunscreen,
swimsuits,
snacks,
we run towards the beach
and into the pond.
It's freezing –
the piercing cold fractures our skin,
but sets us alive
in a way nothing else can.

As the water engulfs us,
we all wish that every day could be like this –
an amazing,
perfect summer day.
We know every day can't.
But we'll take
what we can get.

As we wave hello to new beginnings –
a new school year,
new teachers,
new friends –
we wave goodbye to old ones.
Our homerooms,
the way my friends and I all sat
at the same spots at a table
every day for what felt like all eternity.
Our teachers,
the jokes they make and little quirks they have
that makes them not seem so terrible 
after all.

We know we'll have new versions of all these things,
new traditions to live by.
But
we also know
that by leaving school behind,
we are leaving other things too.
That nothing will be the same
ever again.
That this
is our last day
to be who we have been
for what seems like forever
but really was just
ten months.