My dorm room was bright this morning. It was disorienting.
The sky outside was a cloudless, striking neon blue.
The air was so crisp and clean, I could hardly feel it going in and out.
It all sparked to create a diffused sense of well-being.

Gone, it seems, were the concrete bunker feels of winter.

There's been some loose talk of ‘spring’ lately—I thought it was fake news—but from my third floor lattice windows I could see what looked like people outside. They were walking in the sunshine, riding bikes, throwing frisbees, kicking ​​hacky sacks, a couple was making out in the grass—it was a riot of activity.

Sunny skiffed out of her room (which looks like a hotel room trashed by some rock star), she seemed lighter than air. Three days ago, she announced there was someone of “particular personal significance,” in her life (translate: girlfriend).
Start the schmaltzy, string-drenched soundtrack—love is in the air.

Our challenge now is to carve out a poised and measured final act to our undergraduate years. There’s a scurrying, cynosure, beehive, hyperfocus to labs and classes, a heightened, almost cinematic quality, as if, up to now, we’ve only been practicing for some undefined ‘real thing.’
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Songs for this:
Daylight by Harry Styles
Ain't Nothing Like the Real Thing by Michael McDonald
Dizzy (feat. Alfie Templeman & Thomas Headon) by chloe moriondo
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.our cast: A reader once asked, “Who are these people?” (a solid question) So now I do a cast list.

Sunny, (suitemate) 21, a (pre-med) molecular, cellular, and developmental biology major, is a cowgirl from Nebraska (seriously, she has a quarter horse and barrel races). She’s an outspoken fem-facing ladies-lady.

Your author, a simple, multinational, upper-crust, trust-fund baby from Athens, Georgia who's also a molecular biophysics and biochemistry major (pre-med).

With all these weeks of rain, the grass is
lushly green, well over a foot high,
still wet, smelling absolutely marvelous.
I am on a hunt, a small harvest of sorts,
for the most succulent of viridescent,
tender blades of grass.

Oh, not for me you see, but for my big lazy
rotund, inside only cat, as his diet is bland
canned, or dry foods only, he turns up his
feline nose at chicken, or bits of beef from
the table, and so once a week I faithfully
venture out to collect a big handful of
chlorophyll rich lawn grass that he dearly
loves, with big eyes of intense expectation,
he watches my every move from his perch
upon the windowsill of my living room,
knowing as he does exactly what I'm doing.

When I return inside with his prize in hand he
excitedly reaches up his front paws and dances
about, vocally meowing for his anticipated fresh
salad, which he always devours right down to
the very last grass green blade. Oh, for such
a simple cat existence and pleasures.

How I wish I could get even half that excited
about anything, anymore. But those days are
long past. Well on second thought, maybe at
this point just waking up every morning, is
good enough.

No more clouds only sun
No more sorrow only fun
No more clouds only better
             Tomorrows
Dark clouds was casting over
              Me
It felt like the world in chains
No more pain
Only better tomorrows
All the rain washed away
I dried my tears
Hoping for better years
No more clouds
Only better tomorrow’s
No more clouds