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Senior Perspective: Racing Against Time

by Jasmine Renshaw, Special to the Mirror

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One day as I struggled to sleep, I began to think and suddenly the memories I had made in the last twelve years came spilling out of the miniature filing cabinets contained within my brain.

An overwhelming avalanche of feelings hit me, like regret and nostalgia,  that I had never felt before. I felt a  burning desire in my throat to scream at the top of my lungs, cursing a creator that made it impossible to reverse time, to relive the moments that made me feel so alive.

This is a sensation I had never felt before. A feeling of hatred, partially towards myself, for not appreciating the moments as they passed, and partially at the universe for allowing them to pass so quickly.

It’s a feeling of pain that cannot be cured with an ice pack or some Tylenol, but rather one that blazes like a raging inferno somewhere deep in my stomach. It’s a fire I can’t cool, and it’s one that will never go away.

Every small reminder of my childhood best friend, or a drive past that park I had spent weeks at every summer, or simply imagining the happiness and optimism I had for the future back when all I wanted was to leave here. It continues to burn when suddenly the tears begin to flow. I think that maybe these will extinguish this ache I’m feeling but I quickly learn nothing will stop it.

This is when I realize I must warn everyone willing to listen, to tell them what they’ve heard a million times before. The same thing I was told when I was younger. “Don’t rush the time! Slow down! Stop trying to grow up before you have to!” I’m praying they’ll listen. That they’ll hear the urgency in my voice, the guilt, the anguish.

But sadly, no one will understand this bitterness until they find themselves day dreaming of that one football game, that one school dance, that one road trip with their best friend. Something that impacted them that they will never experience again. That very moment is when they’ll remember my warnings, they’ll feel that sense of regret, they’ll silently scold themselves for not listening to me while they had the chance.

This is when we realize that the time we spent rushing the clock was just hurrying along an object that was speeding past on its own.

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Journalism: Coldwater High School
Senior Perspective: Racing Against Time