Remembering.

It's quiet.
My roommate is sleeping peacefully and the TV is playing softly in the background.

Our room is empty and it's sad. The walls are bare, our closets empty.

There are so many memories in this room- a year of my life that marked my semi-independence. I feel like leaving something, anything, so the room will somehow remember it all. Remember my presence, the wonderful talks with my roommate, the tears shed over guys and divorcing parents. I want the room to remember the nights of no sleep (like tonight) and I want it to remember the stress we feel before a test. If only it could remember the laughs. I long for the room to remember Ali's nightly Bible reading & my singing praises to God when I wake up in the mornings.

The thought seems silly. A room can't remember things. I wish, oh I wish, that it could.

My first semester here was surreal. I was timid about making friends because striking up conversation with strangers was slightly terrifying. I was bogged down with 16 hours and pledging a social club. My roommate and I didn't get along well, and I missed my best friends from home.

Spring semester was so different. I'm sure it was because of Spring Sing and a lighter class load. I made so many friends and truly made the most of the time I had here. It's sad to leave. Terribly sad. My amazing roommate Ali will be far away in Nebraska, sweet Jill in Oklahoma, Beth & Brette in the lone-star state, and Katie in Tennessee. All so far away, all dying to stay together.

I'm thrilled to know that in a few months we will all be back, excited for a new year that holds new experiences and memories. I can see myself moving in, anxiously awaiting Ali's arrival. Once she arrives, Brette, Jill, and Katie will rush in our room. There will be shrieks of happiness and we will sit on the floor and gush about summer. And then we will go to Fro Yo.

I changed my mind. A room can remember, and it will.

It was all too good to forget.