Fantine

So, it is time to face the inevitable-
The last time meeting Ed
The last time climbing up the tower
The last time admiring the deer on Cayuga Heights Rd
The last time going to church
The last time taking my blood pressure reading at the mall
that sad little mall, with nothing of interest, where freshmen congregate at Target because the 30 runs there from North Campus.
We’ve put it off as long as we could,
we have erased all the periods.

This is how one lives with the terminus in mind:
You grasp at every moment and imprint it on your memory, never letting go.

You linger. There are no more classes to rush to, no cold to escape, everything that you do has a purpose in and of itself. The means become the ends.
You tell yourself it is not the end.

I wouldn’t want to be faster
or greener than now if you were with me O you
were the best of all my days

-fo

I will squeeze the breath out of every last second here
There is no room for waste. I will not whitewash over the dread that is settling itself comfortably in my gut.
There is also no room for numbness, for “Good is not good unless/ A thousand it possess,/ But dost waste with greediness.” We develop numbness in the most trying moments of our lives to protect us from bearing the full brunt of trauma. The first stage of grief is always denial.
Not while I am here, I must remember. You, dear reader, have not a clue of the change of seasons in my life that occurred while I was here.

One part of leaving is the people. The greater part of leaving is the place.
The place in which I’ve cried the most, laughed the most, loved the most.
The place which cradled me in my greatest tragedy, my greatest heartbreak.

I simply cannot do this.

So shall we not part at the end of day,
Who have loved and lingered a little while,
Join lips for the last time, go our way,
With a sigh, a smile.

-ecd

so commences the last week.

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