The summer after my freshman year of college I was a complete mess. Having never lived on my own before, I thrived in this new atmosphere and the freedom and independence that came along with it. I lived mere feet from all of my best friends. There were things happening, people awake and doing things, at any and all hours of the day. I was never bored. I had everything I needed within a 20-foot radius.
And then I had to go home. Those first few weeks of summer were rough. I was always that obnoxious kid in elementary school who had a countdown to the exact second the school year ended. Summer was everything to me. Within one year at college, I became that obnoxious kid who had to be all but forcibly removed from her dorm room. Where before summer felt like a beginning, once I started college, summer was the end of so many things.
Two years later, and not much has changed. While now I appreciate (and even need) going home every now and then, I do have a bit of a hard time going home even for a weekend. Winter break: panic mode. Summer: full-fledged crisis.
I didn't think it was possible to get so attached to a place that I had lived in for so short a time. Before long, every building felt like home. Every face felt familiar. I had made memories in virtually every corner of campus. How could they possibly make me leave that for three months? It's cruel and unusual punishment.
Whenever the semester is approaching its close, I start to panic. Just knowing my days are numbered, I start to sweat (more so than usual!). I feel the need to do anything and everything -- just because. If I sit outside late at night, staring at the river and the stars, with all of my friends around, reminiscing on the past nine months, I can hold onto those moments just a little bit longer.
Suddenly, I'm wishing we could rewind it all. Start it all over. Those coffee runs that turned into coffee marathons. Frat houses on a Friday night. And Monday night. And Tuesday night. And pretty much every night. Hungover, hilarious trips to the diner that last for hours. Tears streaming down cheeks after countless hours laughing and screaming and living. Goosebumps covering every exposed inch of skin, waiting and waiting to get into another packed bar. Birthdays, break ups, too much beer. Days and nights, and more days, and more nights, spent with the most beautiful people on this planet.
Do I really have to go?
Pretty soon I'll be at home, missing those lazy weekend mornings with my friends, that are forcing me to question the night before. Sundays spent in sweatpants, trapped in the library writing yet another paper. Crisp, fall days, walking to class, coffee in hand. The living room filled with a minimum of five people at any time of day, instantly putting a smile on my face, no matter how stressful my day had been.
I used to crave the summer. I wanted nothing more than to see the calendar hit June, and pray the days would slow down. They never did, though. And now? The calendar hits May, and my heart sinks a little. The little world I’ve created gets paused. Now those long, hot summer days I once wanted so badly are upon me, and I want to give them back.
I can just stay here forever, right?
