Rushing

Everyone is pushing us into next year.

Pushing, pulling

All the time.

The eighth graders left yesterday.

I went to their graduation.

I tried to smile.

I cried a lot.

Already, this morning we came back -

I didn't want to

I wanted to stay here forever with them

And never move on

Never leave

Never ever

I had no motivation to get out of bed

But managed to somehow -

And the teachers

Greeted us with "Good morning, eighth graders!" signs

Cards

Hershey's kisses.

We're not eighth graders...

Not yet.

I still have so much to learn from them.

So much. 

Too much.

What do I do with my life now?

Where do I go from here?

Who do I talk to? Who do I befriend?

I don't know how to do this without them -

A constant reminder that there will be a next year

But now it's actually happening

And I don't feel ready.

I know I am.

I don't want to be.

I wish I didn't have to be.

Everyone rushes into next year.

They are not ninth graders yet.

They're still our eighth graders

Forever and always.

Right?