Nine years. I dig slowly through the book bins, checking for beloved texts. Sometimes flipping through, sometimes putting them in my box, most times returning them to the bin. As the books tilt forward I see a sea of my name scrawled on the top of so many of them. Nine years left behind.
The boxes I pack are few. What good will these items be in a basement? I leave them behind as a mark, as something to say “I was here.” I taught in this room. I learned in this room. I laughed, and cried, and grew up in this room.
I’m left in the wood floor, the scratch behind the door. I’m still here in the book shelves, the left over chart paper, the closet of neatly organized book club books.
Like a siren fading away, loud at first, then slowly disappearing with echoes off the buildings. Silence.
I hope you had the time of your life.
Moving forward into the unknown. Hope for new learning, new energy, new connections, new inspirations, new idea, and new memories.
Like a Phoenix I’ve come to the end, burst into flames, now I sweep up the ashes of my own cycle, to be reborn again.