April 2026 - Vol. 23, Issue 2

is to watch your friends grow up

through Instagram posts—

each milestone documented

while you slowly fade away;

they don't know when they let

you go, maybe through each

promposal or field trip or honor roll,

each inside joke or hangout or lunch;

you somehow become too unusual

for their tastes—it's something

too strong for their liking;

they rush off to wherever they go:

top colleges here and abroad,

fancy internships and nice vacations

to post in their stories—

you can only watch from behind,

no matter how much they tell you

to get up and get moving,

as if they didn't watch you

grow into who you are today:

strange and dumb and different,

as if they didn't have enough time

to get used to people like you:

eight hours in the classroom

and recess, where you spent

sitting on the sides as they played

volleyball, knowing they'd get

scholarships in six years;

you know they'd be walking the stage

in two months, while you

stand behind with a special diploma

at most—at least you have

something, they say

when, really,

nothing would suffice.