these voices in my head are
threading thoughts through our minds–
the fluorescents distort 
these last moments together
and it's selfish of me
to even ask

but you're smiling nervously towards me across
the room and I hear you:
somehow I know
we'll be fine

standing side by side,
walking the halls one last time
we'll never see it again–
is this nostalgia?
I feel your noise fading away
and we don't speak

in a gown
in a cap
standing tall
are we proud?
are we ready?
it doesn't matter, because we aren't given a choice
we have to leave today
and toss our hat up to the sky

you're shaking
and I hear you under your breath
counting faces;
the last time you'll count so high
and see so many faces you recognize

smiling and jubilant–
we copy and paste their expressions
but don't reciprocate emotionally
because we aren't ready
how are they?
we'll fake it
and stand pretty in purple

we're not ready
but we can count
stay patient and see everyone
one last time

I'll miss you
and you don't have to say anything
because it'll be too hard
but we'll be fine

because we have to be
and I'll think of you
when I stand again–
alone, then–
in four years, counting faces once again
praying yours is among them
counting with me

but for now
your resolve stiffens next to mine
and I grab your hand
today, all that matters
is us
we're not ready but today
we're together

tomorrow
we'll have to count all the faces
until I can count yours again