bedlamsbard (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
bedlamsbard) wrote2008-06-06 06:44 pm
bedlamsbard) wrote2008-06-06 06:44 pm
Entry tags:
blood and sweat and tears and ink
Now I'm emotional. Jesus. I went to the high school and picked up my diploma, sent off my final transcript, talked to my band director, drove my friend home, went to the library, saw Narnia again -- still fantastic, thank you very much -- and came home to put my diploma in its case. And...
That piece of paper is thirteen years of blood and sweat and tears and ink. That piece of paper is Dammann, and Morgan, and Ellensburg High. That piece of paper is English and history and calculus and physics and band. That piece of paper is Shakespeare and the Revolutionary War and derivatives and 9.8 m/s/s. That piece of paper is Furioso and October and March to the Scaffold and the fucking Hey Song -- that piece of paper is the Fight Song. That piece of paper is the National Anthem. That piece of paper is late nights and early mornings, bus rides and AP tests, laughter with friends and redhot anger at betrayal, graphite smeared into the side of my hand and blood on the inside of my lips. That piece of paper is time, thirteen years of it and everything I had.
I didn't cry last night at graduation, and I didn't cry during the assembly or the luncheon. I cried when I held that piece of paper in my hands.
That piece of paper is thirteen years of blood and sweat and tears and ink. That piece of paper is Dammann, and Morgan, and Ellensburg High. That piece of paper is English and history and calculus and physics and band. That piece of paper is Shakespeare and the Revolutionary War and derivatives and 9.8 m/s/s. That piece of paper is Furioso and October and March to the Scaffold and the fucking Hey Song -- that piece of paper is the Fight Song. That piece of paper is the National Anthem. That piece of paper is late nights and early mornings, bus rides and AP tests, laughter with friends and redhot anger at betrayal, graphite smeared into the side of my hand and blood on the inside of my lips. That piece of paper is time, thirteen years of it and everything I had.
I didn't cry last night at graduation, and I didn't cry during the assembly or the luncheon. I cried when I held that piece of paper in my hands.