Your alarm blares beside your head as you are already pulling your arm across you to end its screeching. You lie in bed, contemplating staying there for another minute or five or the whole day. You remember the monotony of the day before and the day before that and the day before that and so on and wonder why you should leave this warm place, full of relaxation and empty of worry. You compromise with yourself. Five more minutes, you think. I only need five more minutes. Five minutes becomes ten, then twenty and now the pit appears in your stomach because you know you need to leave this place, the warm covers and the soft pillows. Your class starts in half an hour and you must get ready. You pull back your covers and hiss at the coldness of the ground. Your roommate is already buzzing around the room, ready for the day, yet you stand for the first time that morning, thinking of nothing more than returning to the comfort of your dreams and pillows. You shed your cozy, warm pajamas and dress in tight, cold clothing and ponder. Why? Why do I have to go? As your day goes on, you remember why.
You must go for the poems you will read in your favorite English class.
You must go to speak with your favorite professor after class about what you wrote last night.
You must go to see your friends at lunch and hear their stories--stories you will keep in your heart and mind, even when you are old and grey.
You must go to laugh and cry and sing until you cannot laugh and cry and sing anymore.
You must go to learn all the things you never learned before and maybe some things you have.
You must go to read your most precious book once more and remember why you loved it in the first place.
You must go to see the dusk as the light fades away but the smiles never do.
You must go so you can see the sunset once more.
And so, you go.