Back in my teaching job at university. Back in my cozy red painted
office, on my black leather chair. My old books, papers, and pens, dusty and
worn. The vintage clock that stopped ticking long ago, half past one, was the last hour it struck. Old Post-it notes reminding me to prepare for this class, or see the dean
about that issue. I’m astonished. How things can wait for us? Despite years of
absence, they sit still, wrapped in a sad, almost resentful sense of loyalty.
We’re all still here, where you left us, as you left us,
years ago.
The same old feeling of belonging, and not belonging there
at all. The excited young faces of second year law students, still deciding who
they want to be, what they want to be. The freshness of their young souls. Still
unscarred by life’s disappointments. Still, not quite broken. The smell of hope,
and passion for chasing dreams, like young tree leaves slowly unfolding in Spring,
knowing nothing of Winter’s harshness. The quickness of their emotions, the clarity
of their expressions, their confident, forthcoming steps, the ghost of melancholy walking behind them, almost catching up. The years that come like ocean waves,
taking from us what we naively believed was ours to keep.
