last day of middle school,
you sign my yearbook,
regret it, tell me to forget it,
cause "it's cool",
i think you need a new marker;
the ink of your sharpie is running out,
splattered paint, torn pages,
whispers of unspoken words;
today we leave this place,
leave the halls that we surfaced,
untold stories haunt empty lockers,
you'd say it's the end of a beginning
and you'd be right,
because darling, you never weren't.
i'm walking through playgrounds
tracing cracks on the ground,
my best friends are playing basketball,
teachers laughing, jingling keys,
laughter and S is playing with sticky leaves
retelling old cabin Jasmine jokes,
RFM and "a cold traumatic night"
i want to say that i remember it like yesterday,
but i don't, everything feels so old,
everyone has truly grown
from little kids, so immature,
running around with feelings that weren't our's,
to adolescents with dreams that we've formed
infinite destinies and fates that we could lead,
will we ever look at this place
fondly with memories, or say,
"i remember that one girl,
she really screwed us over"?
if the last 3 years taught me something,
i would want to joke and say it's "nothing",
but i've been lost, and i found my way out,
almost everything isn't eternal,
yet some things last forever,
i'm not sure what it is,
but maybe when i'm older,
(even when i'm scared)
i'll figure it out.
i'm leaving behind this school,
matchmaker's flyers, broken rules,
said bye to the lower grades,
they never really liked me,
but today they do, anyways,
warm hugs, crying faces, gifts,
and things that we'll always
want to keep, but never use.
strange feelings of nostalgia, deja vu,
things that i felt but haven't before,
i'm opening up my yearbook,
and i see 3 words, 8 letters,
millions of possibilities lie
within your sketches,
i searched classrooms and went outside;
you are nowhere to be found.
i write it back on ripped paper,
slipped into your desk,
opened the school doors,
hear them shut,
there is a sense of peace and stability
so unfamiliar, and gold,
i take front seat,
and i'm looking through the rearview,
i know you're there, you got my note,
i wave goodbye, and my mom's car
leaves the parking lot.
everything gets smaller,
until i can't see where i spent
lunches in the restroom,
a chapter closes, a new one will open.
and epically,
we were everlasting.
