Then leave without warning, so take me home

Something about this semester is very different.
As I walk the torn sidewalks, the school has changed almost as much as I have.
At eleven, two and in between I see reflections of myself four years ago.
Lost eyes pulled together in apprehensive discomfort, gleaning with confusion.
Eyes that don't know where to begin.
I walk slow, appreciating my remaining time while simultaneously comforting the pairs of eyes one by one.
Eyes that meet mine frustrated, scared and overwhelmed, and depart relieved, hopeful.


I don't have to look back four years to remember my own eyes mirroring theirs.
They are the same eyes that looked up at red brick buildings built in 1885.
They show the same confusion and fear, masked by excitement.
The same eyes that lead shaky hands to open the acceptance letter.
The same eyes that absorb every second of the people I love.
The places I love.


At the end of the day, I walk the path to my car slowly.
Telling myself someday those red brick buildings will be just as familiar.
Telling myself, there I will meet someone with the same helpful, friendly eyes.