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2/46am or seven things you know and one you learned

This article is written by a student writer from the Her Campus at Oswego chapter.

one. you see her across the room with the golden curls. you are both 4 and she is so tall you are convinced giants are real. there is no one more perfect to spend preschool with. when you don’t see her in kindergarten, you cry and ask the teachers where she went. they have to explain to you that she goes to a different school now and your heart is broken.

two. the same golden curls appear as you walk into the cafeteria on your first day of middle school and you think that finally god heard you. you can’t stop hugging or talking to each other. other friends from preschool are back too, but she shines too bright and her green eyes blind you with happiness and love.

three. you spend your days jumping on trampolines and ask about boys in each other’s classes. she is your only friend who encourages you to talk to him, and the only friend to console you again when it doesn’t work. she is so pretty, and there are times when you can’t help but look at those same curls and feel the hint of green envy glow in your eyes as boys ignore you.

four. she has so many friends and everyone loves her. when it seems like there is no room for you left, she is back there standing at the door waiting to console you. you don’t cry over boys anymore, but cuts on your thighs and how loudly your dad shouts at you. her voice is like heaven and there is no one else you would rather hear tell you that they love you.

five. when you realize there is a life worth living at seventeen, she is still standing there alongside the rest of your friends you have grown up around you. she is the only constant in life. you spend long nights together in tents under the stars laughing and going on road trips to expensive beach houses together. you tell your therapist that there is only one person you never thought would leave in the end: her. 

six. she starts canceling plans and is always busy. you miss her laugh and the pictures of her snowy cat. you try to make do but so many have come and gone. she ignores you when you try to stick up for yourself. the boy you were in love with in middle school that she encouraged you to go for is dead. the leaves are decaying and the light in the days is getting shorter and shorter. you only see her in tagged facebook pictures anymore. her brightness no longer exists in your life and white showers over the dead grass. spring lacks color and the flowers smell different. 

7. you realize that true love does not exist.

Shannon Sutorius was an award winning 23-year-old English major, over 40-time-published author, editor, and former Teaching Assistant who graduated from SUNY Oswego in December of 2021. Shannon was one of the Campus Correspondents for Her Campus Oswego, previously Senior Editor, and wrote the Advice Column, "Dear Athena." Shannon worked with and had been published in Great Lake Review, Medium, and Subnivean. Shannon's awards included the Edward Austin Sheldon Award, Pride Alliance's Defender of LGBT+ Rights in Journalism Award, and the Dr. Richard Wheeler Memorial Scholarship. As well, Shannon was an active member of the Phi Kappa Phi Honor Society.