I cannot comprehend nor can i explain to you the reasons behind my compulsion to write when it rains. Maybe it is symbolic of a blank slate...
There are times when sitting around inevitably leads to immense nostalgia, invoked by insiginificant stimuli like the drop of rain on the exposed windowsill or the sun’s rays sifting through the blinds.
I stood on the pathway that led to a small gym at the Pointe and gazed at the sidewalk bathed in streaks of shadow cast by the iron gates that enclosed the pool. The shadows did not move, but danced. In my mind. A familiar dance, I gather, of a time before the bell’s of Old Main meant anything to me, before a single drop of alcohol meant the beginning of an interesting night, before the foreboding implications of true responsibility. It spoke of a time when waiting in line meant a painful eternity for a single ride on the carousel. A time when the blinking lights and the gaudy color schemes and fast-moving objects and laughing children was all that occupied my mind.
We played dodgeball today. That was quite a trip. It just made me so happy to see friends strip away everything that meant anything in their lives and reduce their worries to the act of dodging a harmless playground ball. A series of blissful, exciting moments governed by liberation from worry. Some of these people are the same ones I have to learn to deal with saying goodbye to within the following weeks, and I don’t know how to do that. I guess in the meantime, I will have to suffice with understanding the importance of the present. Because if I lose that, I’ve got nothing, and our time together will have been spent in vain. And so as quickly as these moments become those same memories I look back to even to this day, I need to reach a peace with their departure and know that graduation still means something good.
And now begins the end.