In my backpack are all the books I no longer take to class. In truth, I haven't touched most of them since I got home, almost a month ago. My backpack feels like a relic, almost; a historical object from another time. I haven't put on my backpack in about 30 days. I think just about the only time it's been moved has been the two or three times my parents have picked it up to vacuum – and, even then, not more than a few feet. It feels odd, sitting there – untouched and not unpacked. I'm not sure if it is out of utility that it remains that way, out of nostalgia, or out of something else. Maybe, somewhere deep down, I'm afraid that unpacking it would mean this [college] is all over.

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(a 5-minute in-class writing, 4/16/20)