Running.

We’re living like it’s never going to end.
That beautiful bubble we’ve created, the one we never want to leave, pops in three weeks. August 7th, summer ends and the rest of my life begins. A chapter is closing. Two summers, one very long winter, and so many tears and laughter, late night run ins at Burger King, countless drives to Red Rocks, concerts, snowboarding, drives to Frisco, ZooLights, Botanic gardens, cuddling, Wii, movies, Stellas, hot tea, hot chocolate, walks with the dog, driving around, loud music, soft music, dancing, plane rides, fights, that contentment of knowing that someone loves you unconditionally: all of this ends in 21 days.
Of course, a new friendship will rise out of the pain of separation, but what we feel right now cannot be duplicated. I cry sometimes, little tears seeping out of the corners of my eyes when I don’t think he’s looking. But he is. He knows. It’s hard to let go of something you’ve grown so close to. I’m not crying because I want it to continue, I’m crying because I’m afraid to lose it.
We’ve been off now since April, broken up but not far from together, and I’m not quite ready. I never am. Every relationship ends with a period when it’s not but still is.
And this is it.
When I talk to Emily, or see my boxes in the hall, or imagine myself walking down Michigan Avenue again, I get that sense of excitment, a little ripple through my stomach. I’m excited. I’m excited in a way that I haven’t been in a long time. I want to go back. Nothing more than that. I want to have my own room, my own place, sitting in chairs with my best friends, laughing or talking or doing whatever may come of it all.
I can’t wait to start over, to get that second chance at Chicago that I never thought I would. I promise, I’ll embrace it and find myself a life that I could only have dreamed of.
I’m running from the past, running toward the future, no disconnect between the two, tears, I’m sure in both places. I’ll have to take Mom to the airport and put her on a plane, and I’m sure I’ll cry then; it’ll be official. But then I’ll turn around and face the city I’ve grown to love and everything will be alright.

I’m off. There’s no turning back.

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