This is what the end of an era feels like

So this is what the end of an era feels like. I expected it to be different, sadder maybe, rather than a hectic rushing off into the New Haven fog. Maybe the hugs weren't long enough. Maybe there weren't enough tears. Maybe we're all so self absorbed that it doesn't matter anymore. Sure, it's true that we're not as close as we have been for the past couple of years. We've found others who maybe understand us more, or better, somehow. It doesn't mean the end is not bittersweet.

The end to me right now, as I sit in my summer apartment listening to Kelsey cook lunch and street workers banging away at the pavement, is tiring. My bones ache. My head is alert at the moment, but the second I get the chance, I know I'm going to fall fast asleep. Probably on the shuttle to the airport. Probably.

The ending, as I look around at all our crap scattered around the apartment, is a new beginning. It's mattresses perched on a loft. It's expensive leather couches I'm afraid of sitting on for fear of scratching them. It's the smell of soba and soy sauce. It's the open bottle of ketchup that's on the table. It's Kelsey, cooking and tasting things. It's me, weary and aching and ready to go home but not ready to leave yet.

It's the end of an era. I think I'm ready to go.