There are so many things you desperately hope wouldn't happen again. But inevitability is built into some. The end of a semester is like the fall of an anthill- right after a long, ominous silence, its people galore. They're just glad it's over. But is it ever?
Within a span of days, I see everyone, including everyone. And only twinklings later, an anthill breaks loose with memories of the pettiest things that went about and some I only wished. It's not a deja vu but I do know the outcome. I know pandemonium follows and it's too messed up, and there's no ctrl-z. I'll yen, wonder and hope. I'll be a cynic. I'll want to be Chandler or House or JD. I'll want to play every song. I'll want to write, and rhyme. I'll know nothing will last, nothing will help. And it's precisely that prescience, which makes the greatest scourge of what they call life.
It happens again and again. Senti, garbled posts, late-night musings and eons of self-exile later, normalcy, even ecstacy follows. I'm just glad it's over. But is it, ever?