The days felt so long, but the weeks were so short. The semesters were even shorter, and the years were the worst.

Sophomore year, I liked you. It was fun, and I struggled and got through it. I was new and naïve, and it showed. I made friends and laughed and survived, but I was still homesick. I didn’t understand housekeeping, the classes were pretty hard, and things kind of clicked but also kind of didn’t.

But junior year? Junior year, I started to finally appreciate you. Somewhere between all of the practice SATs and chemistry labs, I fell in love with the hallways, the broken showerheads, the 2am fire alarms, talent show practices, the late night study sessions, the midnight ramen. It was jumping on the common room couches and taking naps in random places.

Senior year arrived, and I couldn’t leave. Something tells me I’ve already had the best three years of my life, and that when people talk about their glory days, they’re talking about this. It sounds weird, but I can’t possibly imagine being any happier.

I have called you a hellhole. I’ve cursed your teachers out in the stairwells, complained about you to all my friends, whined about the stress you brought upon me. I laid in my bed thinking about tests until my eyes burned, toted my textbooks around, and woke up every morning with a sense of dread because of my 8am calculus class.

You’ve given me too much. Too many memories, and I have given you nothing. You will forget me, just like you forgot those before me. I’m just another set of footsteps imprinted on the stairs of the SIR bus, another body to lie in one of your mattresses.

You’re the worst. You gave me everything I wanted – an outgoing personality, the most passionate and inspiring people in the universe, extracurriculars I was truly passionate about, classes I genuinely enjoyed – just to take it all away. You’re the absolute worst.

All the promises to come and visit are enough for right now, but I know that it won’t ever be the same. Nothing will replace the feeling of almost missing 10pm check, breaking in-room rules, running to the library to get something printed out at the last minute, being in the shower during a fire alarm, and trying to pick my own orchestra lock because I forgot the combo again. All the Facebook messages I have sent, all the papers I slaved through, the laughs I shared, the secret smiles in class, the hugs—everything had been temporary.

That time is frozen in the stars, and it will stay preserved there for eternity, never to be touched again.

They say that transitioning from a boarding school to college is supposed to be easy because I’m supposed to know what everything’s already like, but I can tell you that’s unfortunately not very true. Now, I’m sitting in my college dorm room, and I’m beyond thrilled to say that there are no more 10pm checks, no more housekeeping rules, and no more Internet shutoff. However, I can also say that I can no longer to tell you where the nearest Chipotle is, where the quietest study spots are, or who the nicest teachers are. I’m thrown off by the overwhelming sense of unfamiliarity, and it’s oddly disorienting and just makes me miss you even more.

Part of me wants to chastise you for giving me a home and for kicking me out before I was even marginally ready to leave. The other part of me wants to thank you for the best three years of my life, and I’ve made a conscious decision to listen to that part. Thank you, thank you, thank you. I’ll say it again and I’ll keep saying it to you for the rest of my life, until I’m positive you’ve understood how grateful I am – Thank you.