Have you ever dropped something? You see it fall, gasped at the inevitable doom, but only been able to watch and wait, praying the damage isn’t unfixable?

This is senior year and I have dropped everything.

I spent everyday in a theatre or black box pouring my heart into characters and emotions and situations I will probably never live through. Searched up historical context, covered my script in colorful scribbles that would help me understand everything better. I saw my friends and who they are. I mapped out their hearts, learned their coping mechanisms, fell in love with the way they hid their flaws. I found a home in a place and person that is so far from who I am in this moment that I envy who I got to be when I wore that dress and those lights were on and I was standing before a friend and felt desirable.

But, that is no more. The curtains closed and we all smiled at each other, knowing we did the best we could. We sat in the audience, squeezing each other’s hands, anxious to hear if the months we’d spent rehearsing would finally pay off. They did, of course, just not in the way we hoped they would. In that moment, when our name wasn’t called and we clapped half heartedly for shows we’d never seen before, I looked at my friends and only saw loss. Not the loss of our show or time, not loss of the competition, but loss of my friends. I saw them fading before me as my childhood spiraled away into the past.

Fear has consumed me. I look at my friends, the people I consider my family, and see a blinding stop watch over their heads, ticking away at the moments I have left with them. I fear losing the only thing that has made me feel like a human in a long, long time. I fear annoying them. I want to be closer to them and create bonds that no distance or time can break, and I want to make plans to see and know and talk to them when I leave, but I don’t want to drive them away with my need to be around them and need be wanted by them. I realize I am not good enough for them. I realize they are better than me. I fear that sooner or later, they will realize it too.

This is the beginning of the end. 

When we scrubbed off the makeup, hung up the costumes, and stacked away the props, that end was solidified. Next is Summa reception. Then prom. Then exams. Then senior showcase. Then graduation.

Graduation.

I think the only reason people come together to watch their children, siblings, cousins, parents, students, and friends walk across a stage is to mark that end. We have parties and gifts and trips for them in order to console the aching loss of their childhood. I don’t mean to spend the last few months I have with them in this pessimistic state. I want to enjoy the time, and look forward to the future. But control is the only tool I’ve ever wanted, and I am losing hope of ever having it.

To those who feel the pressure of the end against their chest, like an elephant standing on your sternum.

To those who want to stay in this irresponsible innocence just a little bit longer.

To those whose loss seems too hard to bear.

To those in mourning.

To my friends.

To my family.

Hold on just a little longer, and I promise I will too.

-Alexandra