The closing line – a Farewell to the Class of 2022

Sophia Prichard and Faith Hubbard at the end of a performance of Disco Alice: The Wonderland Remix

Yearbook Commitee

Sophia Prichard and Faith Hubbard at the end of a performance of Disco Alice: The Wonderland Remix

Sophia Prichard, Editor

Every breath I take I’ll remember you in. Stand still a moment, let me set the scene. Are you really leaving? Couldn’t be.

I miss you already, while your hands are in mine. I miss you exponentially, each moment twice as great as the last. I think of you in a summer breeze, in spring showers, in the autumn leaves, in the first snow fall. I see you in the aisles of books, hand on the spines. I see your eyes and I miss you. Irrational, erratic. Sometimes I wish we weren’t friends if only because this would be easier. I regret all the things I didn’t do, the places we didn’t go. Don’t forget me, don’t leave me behind.

See me in a new notebook, in ink smudges, in the color of blush, in music that you don’t like, in an art gallery, in the smell of coffee late at night. And I’ll see you in the sunset, in green tea, in early mornings, in the smell of stage makeup, I’ll see you in spotlights and picture frames.

Friendship is the funniest type of love isn’t it. There’s not soulmate string tying us together, or blood reminding us why we love one another. We have something different. Different but still good, good and strong. You taught me more than any textbook, and gave me validation in a way you might not understand. Validating the nuance of my mind, the pages of my journal too hard for me to read aloud, you taught me more. You taught me to fill up space, to not take myself for granted.

I refuse to say goodbye. Goodbye seems too permanent, too harsh. I’m not good at farewell. I will see you soon, don’t wait up, I’ll find you in the margins of the closing line.