For the past couple of months, many of my stories have been stuck in the past. Due to circumstance, I have been dwelling over my life here at FHC, half the time waiting for its quick end while simultaneously wishing I could stay here just a little longer. 

Like a loop, these same thoughts circle the rim of my brain, daring me to feel happy, then sad, then happy again; the entire process of saying goodbye is exhausting. You never have the right words or the right moment, and although each person deserves a goodbye catered to your personal relationship with them, all the words start to morph together, and the repetition from person to person starts to become all too obvious. 

So, instead of wallowing in the all-encompassing events of this last past month, I would like to focus on the future for once. Between me and her stands one summer. Between me and her is only four months. Soon enough, I will become a version of her that she tells fond stories about. A girl that she looks back on and smiles. She will re-read my articles and smile at how dramatic I was. Slowly, the hard, painful, sad memories will fade, and all that’s left are the invaluable, unforgettable memories that are worth retelling. 

I look at her now, and I am ignited with excitement. I am not naive enough to think she won’t struggle just as I have; however, the thought of having new problems, new inconveniences, and a different life is comforting. Change is something I have feared for a long time. I used to think that high school is where I would thrive. 

For a while, I was good at high school; it made sense to me. I played the game, and I usually won, but after a while, I got sick of the games. I started taking different paths to try and uncover different aspects of this life, but that only led to disappointment. 

High school is a straight line, one path, with very few options if you want to be successful. From person to person, we all look different. Different hobbies, different jobs, different lives, but in the building, we are all students. Students with the same expectations are being asked the same questions, playing the same game. 

But in four short months, the questions will shift, the paths will split, and problems will change; the game of high school will be over, and that is when life begins. 

I looked at her, and she looked back at me, and we are different.