Sometimes, I feel as though I could stay here forever, blasting Taylor Swift down roads I’ve driven on thousands of times before, laughing during class more than we ever have before because we know it’ll all end soon. 

The realization that high-school is ending has been slowly creeping up on me. From taking my last AP exams to writing my last Nexus articles, I’ve become hyper-aware of all the lasts. And knowing that I can now count the days remaining on one hand, I’ve been trying to spend as much time being present in school, soaking up every last bit I can before the classmates I’ve been with for the last seven years become just a memory. 

The past four years certainly haven’t been perfect. From unusable bathrooms to overbearing academic pressures and Zoom classes, high-school has been challenging. Many of us, including me, often wished that it would end sooner. 

But now, we’re about to graduate and I am confronted with an almost-overwhelming feeling of sadness. I’ll miss the communities I’ve cherished in school clubs, I’ll miss the periods that my friends and I lie on the pavement sharing our future aspirations, and I’ll miss the 4.2-ounce fruit punch juice box that my friend kindly saves for me every day. 

Frankly, I’ll miss many things about my time here, and listing them all would take pages. I’ve come to conclude, though, that what I’ll miss most is normalcy–knowing that I wake up at 7:30 a.m. every day to see familiar faces, learn in classes I’ve heard about for the last four years, frequent my favorite coffee shop, sit under palm trees and lean against planters, and be myself. 

It’s routine. It’s constant, a variable that I’ve never had to worry about changing. 

A part of what scares me about going to college is not knowing any of that. I don’t know if next year I’ll be sleeping in the top bunk or bottom bunk, where I’ll be walking every day, or who I’ll be learning with. The details are minute, but details are what I have now found comfort in. It now feels as though I took many things for granted in high school, from having home-cooked meals to school projects I frequently complained about. 

At Westview, I knew where my place was, and in college, I’ll have to find it. I may change, my interests may diverge and my goals may shift. 

I’ve told myself that it’s okay to grieve losing your childhood. I can both embrace change and miss the past. 

So I’ll hug my friends more, visit my old teachers more, and love everything I have here more. I want to do it all more. I’ll stay in touch with my close friends, but I’ll miss conversations with those I pass in hallways and I’ll miss inside jokes with tablemates, moments that distance will prohibit us from replicating.

High school is a place where I’ve learned about myself and the world, and I’ll be forever grateful to Westview for allowing me to do that. 

I’ll reminisce, but I know we’re ready. Life as I know it will end, but a life that’s more than I know will begin. 

Goodbyes are hard, but part of me hopes that they’ll always be hard, that I’ll always love what I’m about to lose as dearly as I did in high school. 

From the bottom of my heart, thank you, Wolverines, for an unforgettable four years. Thank you for making Westview a place to miss.