Ever been listening to a song that you haven't listened to for years and then it's like BAM! and it's like the song was written for you at the present moment. And it's stupid, really. Because not only wasn't the song written for you, about you, it wasn't even written in the same freaking year! But you just keep listening to that song over and over again because, really, what else can you do? You listen to it and think, "That's exactly how I feel." But then you think, "Well, that doesn't matter. This is just a stupid song, written years ago." What also sucks is that once you start listening to one sweet romantic song, you suddenly have to listen to all the ones you have. Seriously. What is with that? And there are always those songs on your playlist that you avoid, that you skip over--"Oh god, not that song," and, "Oh god, that song reminds me of [insert name]." And everyone's playlists have those few songs from your childhood, the ones that you secretly listen to whenever you're wishing back to those nice, simple times. Those times where there were no responsibilities, no stressful times, no worry about a love life, no worry about friendships, nothing. Simple times. You know, those times that ended, oh, about fifth grade? Yeah, those. You think, "Oh, what I wouldn't give for those times..." But, really, would you? Would you want to go back? I don't just mean to have to go through everything again, but..isn't this part of what life is about? The trials and tribulations of college? Of life? Yeah, most of the time all there is to think is, "God, this sucks. When will I get past this? Will I get past this?" But really, these are the times of our lives, and I wouldn't trade them in for anything.

Short Story (fifth draft)

They were nothing alike. She was one of those "good girls." He was one of those "bad boys." Maybe it was because they were opposites that they were so good together. Or maybe it was just that reason why they weren’t.

He smoked. She hated the smell of tobacco. He drank. She wouldn’t touch alcohol. He rode a motorcycle. She considered them death vehicles. He skipped classes all the time. She had perfect attendance. His room was a mess. Hers was sparkling clean. He played the drums. She played the violin. He was always in bars. She spent her free time in the library. His drug of choice was whatever was around that night. The only "drug" she would touch was caffeine, in the form of coffee or chocolate.

She was "teacher’s pet." He was a professor’s worst nightmare. She was president of this association and that. He crashed school events and had been kicked out of organizations. She was always on time. He didn’t show up most of the time. She was everything he hated. He was everything she despised.

When they met, they clashed. He tripped her on her way out of the arena, and when she turned around to glare at him, he flicked his cigarette ash onto her shoe. He smirked while she sputtered angrily. They went out for coffee that night. The rest, well, was history.

Of course, they fell in love. And how they fell–well, that was the only thing they had in common. They both fell head over heals. Everything seemed perfect at first. Although they spent the majority of their time together fighting, they also spent it laughing and loving. They changed one another. He gave up the alcohol and drugs (but refused to give up the cigarettes), and she grew accustomed to him smoking after sex (although she found it too cliche). He started going to class, and she began dropping out of associations. She stopped taking public transportation, and he bought her a motorcycle helmet. They spent most nights in her dorm room (his was too messy for her liking), prompting her roommate to request she move into a single. She began missing a class here and there, often because he forgot to wake her when her alarm went off or he distracted her while she was getting ready.

But like almost all good things, it came to a slow and painful end. Neither could ignore how they used to be. She began to fall asleep waiting up for him at night and wake up alone in the morning. He would come in late some nights, smelling of alcohol and drugs and sex. But she loved him too much to comment. So she put up with it. He wouldn’t show up some nights, and she would find drunken voicemail messages from him, saying he was sorry he wasn’t going to be home that night. She wouldn’t speak to him for days after those. He would always show up begging, though, with roses and chocolates and jewelry. She would always take him back.

When she finally had enough, she stopped answering his calls. She didn’t accept the gifts. She moved back in with her old roommate. Eventually, he stopped trying. When she would see him in the streets, he was someone she no longer recognized. She had become someone she no longer recognized when she looked into a mirror.

She sat outside the arena and took a long drag from her cigarette and flicked the ash out onto some poor guy’s shoe. She recognized the shoe. It had spent enough time lying around her room, untied. She didn’t look up. She stared at the shoe for long minutes until eventually it moved on.

Summer

There was a train ride, bagels, books, and PSPs. There was tennis and swimming. There was pushing and pulling. There was laughter and deals yelled. There was barbeque and restaurants, ice cream and sorbet. There was real estate, our bench and the police officer. There was movie searching and girl talking. There was There were cards, showers, and Cooper. There were movies, blankets, and sleep. There were more cards, throwing of said cards, and sleepyness. There was an exchange of cell phones, reprogramming of a phone, and a call. There was lying in bed, talking, sleep-talking, and finally sleep. There was waking up, a glance at a clock, more sleeping. There was waking up, showers, cards, breakfast, unusual conversation, and guitars. There was the beach and water. There was sand and sun. There was sunscreen and no sunscreen. There was heat and towels. There was tanning and burying. There was the walk back, talking and more real estate. There was the town, our bench, and stray tennis balls. There was more tennis and bad aim. There was chicken and orange soda. There was packing and more cards. There was going to the train station and buying tickets. There were goodbyes. There was the train 8 minutes late. There was searching for seats, then reading and music.

There were summer days of happiness, where responsibilities and worries just seemed to disappear. There was a weekend of relaxation and perfection.

Reflections

I spent the last 12 years of my life in Kew Forest. I watched the school go through changes in administration, in security, in lunch, in senior walls (class of 2006!). But what I've also been part of is an amazing experience I will not forget. I've found friendships that hopefully will continue throughout college. I've gone on school trips that have been unforgettable. I have memories that cannot be erased with time (no matter how hard I may want them to be). I've learned life lessons the hard way. I've learned who my real friends are in times of crises. I've wished for it to all disappear. I've wished for it to never go away.

There were trips on which we got in trouble, trips on which we were taped into our rooms, trips on which we learned a little something about someone we never knew, trips on which we bonded. There were parties of all kinds. There were nights of sanity and insanity, of good and bad, of friendships. There were days that I wished never had happened. There was days that I wished could last forever. There were days of both.

But through it all, there were friendships. I love you all and I will miss you guys so much.