12:00 am.

Not a moment of absolute silence, keys tapping, laughs stifled, yawns forgotten, caught in throats.

We raced, armed with laptops and pencils in hand, the unspoken chroniclers of youth antics and daring ideas

To form some viable record, some ink-scored lines, of the memories none the less carved in our hearts and our minds.

We, the Alumni, the ‘bloggers’, the ‘mature ones’

Reminisced and remembered each moment, each word.

We said: halting hellos, and heart-wrenching goodbyes

And filled the in-between to overflowing with culture, passion and life.

From dust-glazed Fort Rodd to Chinatown’s gilded dragons

We traced a winsome web of wonder, of worlds mixed as one

Each facet of the worlds as unique of each face of our friends

With stories traced and tangled with tears, with talents, with threads.

12:00 am.

And we work, and we yawn, we resist

We resist the inevitable last tap of the keys, we resist the goodnights

For a moment asleep is one closer to the end

To days without giggles provoked with a glance

Without Aboriginal dances danced with grace of awkward limbs

Without the epiphanies shared and scribbled on back of hands

Inspired by the silence of reverence for a stone-bound Klee Wyck

We, the Alumni, we remember, we write.

12:00 am.

Goodbyes and goodnights, with us, are never the end.

Though now scattered along ridges and lakes of BC

We can remember the lack of an absolute silence, keys tapping, laughs stifled, yawns forgotten, caught in throats.

We remember the race, armed with laptops and pencils in hand, the unspoken chroniclers of youth antics and daring ideas

To form some viable record, some ink-scored lines, of the memories none the less carved in our hearts and our minds.

12:00 am.

Author: Annaliese

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