As I lie in bed I can’t help but look out the window
At the Manhattan skyline grid that comforted me on restless nights
On other nights I look at the art I’ve hung up all over the walls
They’ve become a scrapbook for everything new and everything old
And I picture myself taking it all down again
I wonder who were the people before me
Who also hung up and took down their art
Who struggled to find some empty space to hold another piece of their lives
Did they find themselves wondering
Of the memories that passed through this room before they made their own?
Or the friendships that were made
The times we cried ourselves to sleep from the homesickness
The moment we could finally call this home?
Did they wonder, like me, of who will come after
And claim this space their own
Brimming with excitement and anxiety
But ready to make the same memories?
What if buildings could hold these memories —
Would they always tell the same story
Of the freshman who felt like they had conquered the world?
Email Vaishnavi Naidu at [email protected]