This is for all the times I've woken up with the headphones dangling out of my left ear, the cord wrapped dangerously around my wrist and realize that on a normal day, I'd be done with class by now.

This is for all the times I've sat in my matted white desk chair texting my friends, watching the grey dots appear like 1,2,3 as I think of all the times I was able to see them thinking of what to say next right in front of me, over breakfast bagels or taco Thursdays.

This is for all the times I thought about skipping class, the covers pulled up to my chin as the sounds of Wisconsin Avenue drift in through our ever-open window, reminding me that the day's just begun and propelling me to gingerly step on my blue polyester desk chair below.

This s for all the times I've thrown my hands in the air and belted all the words to "Mr. Brightside", no cares in the world as girls laugh and boys dance, my friends grabbing my hands and dancing with me because we're young and tomorrow is only just a few words away.

This is for all the protein bars I've scarfed down running from class to class and meeting to meeting, afternoon gym sessions to evening library freak-outs; this is for all the laughter that's poured out of my lungs and into the crisp open air and for all the tears that've rolled down my mascara-stricken cheeks in the dead of night; this is for dining hall food poisoning and public market paninis, for cinnamon lattes and the smell of Sophie's car, for the Uber drivers who used to sing to us and the Uber drivers with lights running along the ceilings of their cars, for all the times I was proud of the 414 area code and all the times I wanted to change everything about it.

This is for bad decisions and great stories, and vice versa. This is for all the things I did and all the things I didn't, specifically for all the things we said we would do as soon as we got back and were all together again in "just a few weeks."

This is for me. This is for them.

This is for all of us.