As I pack my s*** in to boxes I feel constant stress. What do I have to be stressed about I have mixed feelings. I seal my boxes I seal the memories of four years of serving high school. That song goes over and over in my head " I will rember you, will you rember me," Thank you Sara for singing that song. I long for the days when I was sixteen I was in love with to Jocks. I pack away my clean unworn mismatched sox’s, and I think of the time I went goth when I was Brocken hatred. I know it's retarted he never loved me he lied to me and told me threw a friend that he was gay. Hey it was just a faze for a week. That was the year I lost a best friend. I tend to my favorite books to pack away like my mom tends to her garden. I long for the days when my mom would read me Juny B Jones. When my dad would read to me and then talk to me in to the night. Now I read to my self listening to No Doubt on the SKA station. As I pack my s*** away I feel ok.