• As I sat in my closet, in the fetal position, I remembered every moment that lead up to my tears. Every day, every minute, and every second flashed through my eyes; a distant memory. I sat there for what seemed like days. I now know that it was only about an hour and a half, but it felt like forever. I remember my parents coming in and checking on me, making sure I was ok. I remember how I went through a whole box of tissues, and how my shirt was soaked with salty tears. I can’t forget how it felt, staring at my room, empty and cold. I can’t forget my last day in the place I called home.

    My last moments with my best friend are painful, even though we still talk. I remember spending the night at her house before I left. I still feel the pain of holding back tears because we both swore not to cry—we knew we would see each other again. Saying good bye would solidify the fact that I was moving away. I still don’t know how I had the power to just walk away, knowing that I wouldn’t see her. She was the person who stood by me through my darkest hour, and now she wasn’t going to be there for me in my new dark hours that lied ahead.

    The last seconds I shared with my boyfriend was scary and proved to me that we would never see each other again. The last hour was full of laughter that was forced—difficult even. The last meal we ate together was awkward. Everything was wrong those last few days, nothing was right. But I remember how happy we were before, and it still eats a hole inside of me today. Even though I know that he is happy and has moved on, dating a girl at his school, I still wallow in my misery. It feels wrong, but I can’t forget all of the happy moments we had together.

    Leaving my school was one of the easier things to do, in comparison to leaving my best friend and boyfriend, but it doesn’t mean it was an easy task to do. I cried three, almost four, times on the last day of school. Walking away from my friends felt like my stomach was being ripped into pieces. I never felt so connected to a whole group of people. These crazy people were a hodge-podge of people, all of the miss-fits, everybody who didn’t fit in. But we were a team.

    The weeks that lead up to my move are hard to talk about, still. Those moments that I hold so dear to my heart still burn inside. The pain is still there; even more vivid if possible. I can’t shake the feelings I have. I can’t rid myself of the memories, so I just hold them dear. I don’t forget, not because I cannot, but because I will not. I refuse to let those memories go. I can’t just let those tears I cried go to waste. I will forever flashback to the day I sat in my closet and cried about leaving everything behind.