I know, I know.

You’re ready to go.

But please, stay just a little bit longer. I have yet to run out of things to say.

Yes, even I am surprised that, after three consecutive years now, I still have plenty more stories to tell.

A whole year’s worth, to be exact. I promise, you are almost done with me; I am about to take a quick break, but then I will be back before you can blink and continue to overshare a tad too much to people I don’t know.

However, a year’s worth of storytelling is a mortifyingly short amount of time. Considering how quickly the past nine months have sped past my eyes, I am petrified.

I hope that does not scare you, too. I will only have a few more opportunities to voice my opinions on current fads, movies, and music. There will only be a meager amount of stories to write about fellow classmates. And one day, I will write my final one of these, my favorite kind of stories, and you will get one last glimpse into my little life.

But fret not, my friend. Once we part ways, you will still have a piece of me to remember. You can scroll through to the very beginning—which I personally do not recommend—and relive my extravagant waltz with words.

I am not done yet, however; don’t you dare think such a thing. My storytelling is about to become a whimsical screenplay that you cannot take your eyes off of. It is a sequel: a sequel to this year, one that will be better than the years before.

You mustn’t watch a sequel without having any knowledge of the preface. Yes, you have seen glimpses of it here, but those are only the moments I decided to highlight—the in-between scenes. Those were the parts of the film that would’ve gone unnoticed, had it not been for you.

It may seem like this story is over, but please, don’t leave quite yet. I want you to watch the ending credits before the red, velvet drapes blanket the screen until the final film is ready to premier.

There were new characters added to my repertoire this year. They have taken me to new settings, ones I would have never imagined adding. I let them write parts of my script, rather than me ensuring that everything is perfect myself. I let some characters leave, no matter how hard I fought for them, which opened up to a whole new act that changed the course of the storyline.

I should thank them, I truly should. I don’t think I would enjoy the alternate ending to this screenplay as much. You should thank them, too. All that you have read of mine would be far more mundane, I believe. Because of these new characters, there is a vibrancy that curtains the words I write, making them a lot less heavier than they were before.

I have spent three years under the bright stadium lights, cheering for a sport I do not fully understand. I have spent two years jumping up and down in a mob of familiar strangers to mediocre music, or in extreme cases, no music at all. I have spent three years roaming the halls, moving from class to class, saying hello to people I am acquainted with, but really don’t know much about them.

That is how it has been for the past three years. Of course, I find it comfortable, but I am tired of living comfortably.

Next year, I want to spend every Friday night cheering under the blinding lights for a sport I still do not fully understand, but at least I will make an effort. Next year, I want to jump up and down in a mob with the people I’ve grown up with to still mediocre music, but we can pretend that it is better. Next year, I will roam the halls from class to class and say hello to people I am acquainted with, but this time, I will actually know them. Next year, I will walk across a stage and be given a diploma commemorating thirteen years of my life. And then, after that, the final credits will roll, and everyone will move on as the earth continues to spin.

Please, my friend, don’t be in such a rush to go. Don’t make the same mistakes that I have made. Stay a little bit longer. Don’t leave me just yet.

I’m not ready.