Updated: Mar 11
Written by Daniel Lurie
How odd to think that the faces that walk
by me on the concrete—those that I know
but don’t know their names, will filter out
into the world, becoming the source of
someone’s smile, but a memory for me.
How watching that flickering streetlight
in the parking lot, never quite burn out,
even as the seasons change; almost like
senioritis, feeling like it is time to move
on, but not wanting to at the same time.
How I have lived in so many rooms in
the halls, that the numbers blur together
into one long equation. My entire life
stacked into just a few boxes in my
closet; I no longer decorate the shelves.
How I have cried, laughed, and loved,
almost as much as I have lost, but this
place has always been here to pick up
the pieces. After I leave, everything
here will be the same, but who will I be?