Moving on.

It's weird

to think my life here won't be my life anymore.

To sit in my bedroom, unshared with anyone,

and think I won't be sleeping here every day.

To hang out with my close friends,

and think that they won't be the ones I'll see every week.

To go to Berkeley,

and think, "This is my life now."

And yes, I'll return to this bedroom and sleep here. But it's not where I live anymore.

And yes, I'll hang out with my "old" (how wrong it is to use that word) friends. But they're not the friends I need to make here [at Berkeley].

And yes, I'll come back home. But only to leave again.

It's weird to really, truly understand that

"things will never be the same."