Love 'em and leave 'em

The words have been leaving our mouths for the past month, a last squished up against another last:

Finished.

Done and dusted.

End of an era.

Finito.

Now that's the end of that chapter.

Freedom.

So here we were told not to lose momentum (which is so easily done) over exam time but I've got a feeling we bloody lost our momentum for the sadness of leaving and finishing as well! With so many lasts, a party to celebrate the end of each subject, a party to celebrate the end of form, a breakfast, another breakfast, a last day, a muck up, a graduation, a lunch... I don't feel finished and yet I feel I finished more than a month ago because those class rooms and that last week where we ate cake and wagged studies to all just hang out in the quad was the finale. So basically, we didn't realise that... this was it because the tears had already come a-flowing weeks ago (well for a sad girl for me at least). Today has been one of those long days where you think back to something you did in the afternoon and it already seems to be something of a distant memory.

I think it's something of a hint that we've been let go when theres no organised mode of transport for us anymore. No more school bus, tear. No more teachers telling us off for talking (which we annoyingly did plenty of) before, after and during speeches, fat tear.

The main feeling I've got right now is a lack of closure, as a friend said. I left the school with some subconscious, yet obviously something drilled into me over the past 13 years, that this was not the last time I'd walk down that hallway, into that room that I never ending up having a class in but always wanted to, past those dirty toilets, past old lockers and new ones we'd never have. It was as if I had spoken to the school all day but had made no eye contact with it... only rudely looking and talking elsewhere.

I need to go back and say goodbye. I need to hug the red brick walls, I need to look at my old yet always so trusty locker once again and close it with the purpose of a knowledgable woman who came and conquered the role of a "Year 12" student, a senior, - when will I gain this level of respect (with all my many colours and badges... they shine respect into other students eyes...) again? Not for many years, maybe never, I mean my own children don't respect me as it is! Ahhh I won't get into my children right now, maybe later. I should have peeled all the post cards, photos, magazine cut outs off of my locker with care, and admired the darkened marks the blue tac had left of them. I should have strolled slowly through each building to look at it and know inside it an immense amount of knowledge was wedged into my brain.. Oh the coloured rooms, I want to remember the way we call you by your colour and not your number.

It's an open wound and it needs to be closed! Yet it hurts so good because I'm so fucking happy that I'm done, I'm done.