I’ve gotten to the point where I can’t learn anything
Where it’s time to go practice
Because practice makes perfect
Not classroom memorization

I’ve gotten to the point where love is not shared
In the way that the epilogue to a drunk night can be
And I can know the difference

I’ve gotten to the point where a last year
Means many other lasts
But also many firsts
And that difference keeps me running

I’ve gotten to the point
Where I can sit back and wonder
Without the heart race and slight headache:
“What’s the point?”