when wooden soldiers catch their breath

i almost miss room 314. not the room, but everything i learned and everything i experienced. that room holds so many memories, and although most of them were not positive, it's still a part of my life. a whole year took place in that room and i grew and matured so much there. all the happiness, all the sadness, all the loneliness, all the hurt, all the ups and downs. all the times my friends came to visit. all the times i hated it with everything in me. so many times i cried in that room openly in front of brianna. the times she hugged me. and the times she ignored me. the times i cried in bed in silence. the times i ran out and cried in the stairwell. the bathroom. the smoking table. and the time i cried at the smoking table in front of the stoned kid who told me everything would be okay. so many times i cried. and i miss it? what? i don't know either. but i do know how many internal decisions i made about life, and morals and friends and everything in between.

everything was so real there. i had to face everything, because it was just a tiny box of a room. i had nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. but now i'm home. and i'm already slipping into the mold of last summer. and i'm not sure how i feel about that yet. because my place to run to closed today. my second home is now closed. i know it's silly to feel so strongly about a starbucks, but i can't begin to make anyone understand what that place means to me. it was an anti-gymnastics bubble, it was an anti-leukemia bubble, it was a niche of nothing; therefore a niche of everything. and even though i don't talk to all the people that work there everyday or hang out with them on a daily basis, they mean more to me than they or anyone else can understand.

i hate feeling guilty. and i hate this burden.