the halls grow quieter each day
pages of notebooks thin with time
final bells echo softer than the first
the clock moves forward
but i feel still for a moment
caught between what was
and what waits
i leave behind desks marked with memories
laughter folded into corners of classrooms
names i may never speak again
but won’t forget
this is the end of a chapter
not the end of the story
just a turning of the page
the ink dries
i take a breath
and begin again
i get
obsessed
with little things
movies
singers
people
anything
for two to six months
i cant
think
about
anything
else
like being tangled
the road turns slow past the fields
stone crackles under the tires like a voice i forgot i missed
i lean forward in my seat holding my breath
because there you are
just past the trees
the air tastes like honey and promise
sticky with the scent of blooming jasmine
and freshly cut grass that crunches beneath bare feet
the sky drips blue
stretching wider every afternoon
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