I can hear the hallway whisper.
I can hear it, I believe you can too.
Every corner carries a memory I didn’t know I had.
Our journey from the 11th grade classroom where we would come alive with house spirit and cheer for our teams as we looked out onto the field,
To the 12th grade classroom, where we daydreamed of summer nights and movie lives, as we watched the serene sea and felt the wind flow through our hair.
This hallway carries a part of my soul, two of the best years of my life. This hallway has witnessed it all—
The staff room, where we unraveled the tragedy of Macbeth,
Debated politics, wrestled with equations,
And begged for that elusive extra mark.
Celebrations wrapped in laughter, tears carried on quiet footsteps.
It has held a part of me I never knew existed,
A version of myself shaped by its familiarity.
It has seen me breathless with excitement (or from climbing 5 floors)
It has held my silent tears.
The hallway hums with echoes of the past,
Its walls have watched thousands of faces pass,
And in every corner lies a story untold—
Memories etched deeper than paint or stone.
The hallway whispers to me one last time.
As I walk through it once again, one last time, it calls to me.
New students will walk its floor, their stories written over ours.
But before our memories fade into its walls, it whispers to me again.
A whisper for the moments of learning,
A whisper for the moments of teaching.
A whisper for the smiles, the tears, the hugs, the laughter.
The hallway whispers its acknowledgement of the mark we are leaving behind, The hallway whispers a silent goodbye.
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