6 More Sundays

I’ve been quiet all morning

Just thinking

About all of the time I’ve spent here

And how it’s coming to a close.

Remembering all the times

I could barely breathe

From laughing so hard,

From carrying too much,

From not knowing enough.

I walk through the same building

Where I grew up,

Where I know the walls

And they know me too,

And I regret all of the wasted time.

I can see so clearly

Where I could have done this,

When I should have said that,

And it hurts.

I can hear the junior high kids

Screaming my name;

I can see my old friends

The ones who left before me –

Our ghosts are playing games in the auditorium,

Ignorant of how the years

Will challenge and change us.

Up the stairs I can hear the old me,

Just 19-years-old,

Finally accepting love

And I remember where new life began.

Now I’m at a crossroads

That I didn’t agree to,

Covered in four years of misery and joy

That won’t let go of me.

Knowing that this is an end,

And it hurts.

I walk through the same building

I’ve walked through thousands of times.

I sit in the same chairs

And sing the same songs

That used to assure me I was home.

The days I’m within these walls are numbered –

I think they know I’m leaving too.

And it hurts.

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