Deming 313

the pictures are off the door
the desk is cleared of the abandoned paperclips, sticky notes, and bobby pins
the closet is empty
the boxes and bags strain at their seams.

I look at the room
that has been my home
for the past two years.

I have met my best friend,
cried myself to sleep,
sat at my desk for endless hours,
and laughed until I had to run to the bathroom.

I have made tough decisions,
easy choices,
and hid in my closet when I couldn't decide which was which.

I have stumbled into,
and out, of bed
and curled up on the floor when the bed
was just too far away.

I have talked
and listened
and I have done my best to understand.

I won't necessarily miss the 3 flights of stairs,
--and I know Dad won't miss moving me in and out--
walking down the hallway,
waving to the camera that has been the witness
to many a strange event.

I knew it was a good sign
that I got my lucky number my freshman year.

But this room is more than
what it appears to be,

and I will miss it like an old friend.