This is it.

You know no matter how many lasts we are experiencing in these final weeks of high school.
No matter the people we'll never see.
The teachers we'll never learn from.
The strangers we'll never judge.
I bet you anything the majority of us will wake up Saturday morning and go about our lives like nothing ever happened.

I mean we are only one day older than the last.
One hour more tired.
One minute less memorable.
One second closer to death.

Paris was great.
Neverland was a dream.
Home's heart gained some weight.

We walk these halls everyday, and yet all of us will hear one name, see one person walk, that we had no idea went to this school.

But no matter the cliques,
The hate,
The lies,
The egos,
The tears,
The scars.
The graduating class of 2016 will all breathe as one as we all stand and move our tassels like we have gained some sort of knighthood for turning our papers in on time.

I don't know about you, but for me it's so much more than that. Walking on that carpet and shaking hands with people you barely talked to. I'm doing that because I fucking made it.
I made it through every late paper.
Every teachers pair of eyes in the back of their heads.
Every suicide.
Every fight with parents or friends.
Every time where my heart was heavier than my textbooks.
And after that.
I woke up.
Got ready.
And went to school.
And I bet you I smiled at least once everyday I was in those halls.

My beginning at Lone Peak was bathroom stalls and knowing people by their shoes.
My rising action was facing a tidal wave while holding one hand.
My end is a confused head held high.

Now let's all move on and slowly forget.
Let's embrace our briefcases and hang our selves with our ties.
Let's wither away and become our parents.

But always remember that green is not a creative color.

Writers block is tearing at my skin.
Or maybe I'm blocking out my emotions of what's to come.

Didn't Have My Journal

I will never be here again. 

I was talking to my friend during lunch toast and he told me his biggest regret in his years it's that he didn't write every day since seventh grade. He's not a good writer. But he wants to remember. He wants to remember every tear. Every laugh. All of it. 

I feel like this whole leaving thing isn't gonna hit me until it's August and I realize Lone Peak is starting a new year and I'm not there.

And then I'm moving to Washington. Everyone I knew. Miles away. 

I don't know when it'll be the last time I see them.

I hope it causes you all pain that you won't ever be at high school again after this year. 

Even if you're gonna become a teacher.

Even if you're going to visit. 

Your heart should ache when you think about it never being the same, because that means you cared.

We will never be here again. 

We are so young. And I feel like we're all to caught up in where we're going to appreciate what we have now. 

Yes, it's a relief that's summer is coming. And the homework and tests are almost over. The stress will be gone. 

But we never have the time to truly say goodbye to the families we forged here. 

And those are more important than anything else.

Meh.

So many things I want.
But what do I need.
I'm debating if I'm actually trusting fate to help out,
Or if I'm just being lazy and taking what comes.
I don't want to be someone little.
Someone in a cycle to nowhere.
Which is funny because it always bugs me when people say they want to be remembered.
That not a bad thing to want of course,
But when people usually say that they mean they want to be the next Gandhi.
It's always best to be remembered by people close to you though.
If that's not enough for you that's kind of sad.
Because pain is only there to let you know it meant something.
I don't know about you,
But I only feel pain when people close to me die.
Maybe I'm just heartless.
But I'd rather truly affect a small amount of people,
Than be an icon to the world.
Though as a wise man once said,
Why not both?