There is a sense of comfort that comes along with growing up in a small town. My best friends are the people who borrowed my crayons in kindergarten and witnessed my first kiss on a trampoline in middle school. They are the people who have truly seen me through my best, my worst, and my ugly, and I will miss them dearly.
No, my high school was not pretty. It did not have every sport, edible food, or even air conditioning; but I loved walking down the hallway and knowing the face of every single person I was passing. I know that when I walk through my college campus, I will be lucky to see one of my friends as I am standing in the line for Starbucks or rushing to my 8 A.M. I am grateful for my small town, as I say goodbye and begin this new adventure in my life.
Goodbye to my neighbors who have helped me chase my dog down the street when she got out of the house.
Goodbye to the employees at Starbucks who memorized my order years ago.
Goodbye to the people at the bagel store who fed me when I was hungover.
Goodbye to my high school teachers who knew way too much about my personal life.
Goodbye to my teammates and coaches, who tolerated my laziness and lack of responsibility.
Goodbye to my graduating class of one hundred and six.
Goodbye to my best friends.
Goodbye to my best friends moms.
Goodbye to the boys who have made me smile. And even the ones who have made me cry.
Goodbye to my Mom.
Goodbye to my Dad.
And Goodbye, to my small town.
