They try to argue with me, to reason with me, but it doesn’t change what I think at all. I do agree: people change, and change is inevitable. Still, that doesn’t make me feel any better, for emotion knows no logic. After we leave, nothing will be the same. Even as we step out on that last day, that sense of finality, of conclusion, of “the end and a new beginning” will hit us. But what can I do? Time is winding down and the clock is ticking until the minutes and the seconds run out. I remain inert: I don’t want to leave, I just want to continue in this continual motion that makes up our daily lives at this point in time. Yet, my biggest fear is that of dreams. Dreams are vicious, cruel creatures that prey on you when you are in one of your most vulnerable states. They force you to remember things even when you don’t want to. I know that after we’re gone, nostalgic images of you and me and everyone and of the way it used to be will appear in my sleeping head, like some corny home video. It will be so realistic that I’ll actually believe I’m still there, doing what I used to do. And it will keep on playing, until I wake up. Then the pain will hit a kind of heartbreaking sadness, and I will want to go back but I will not be able to. The only thing that I can do is hold on. And these dreams, these cruel dreams, will hit me time and again in that bittersweet summer after our departure, bringing me joy and sadness at the same time in the form of memories. I know these dreams will eventually go away with time as I forget, but I don’t want to forget. I never ever want to forget…

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