Last Day

Conflicted, I sit on the pullout bed and listen to the cars on the pavement through the open window. Isn't it always this way on the last day? I didn't see enough, do enough. I didn't learn what I was supposed to learn.

I am sad and lonely and too old to be discovering myself.

Tomorrow I will stand before a classroom full of students and long to be here, in this livingroom, in this city, listening to the tinkle of silverware in the apartment across the way, the sound of a door closing on the floor beneath us, the perpetual hum of the living.