92 days

He had 92 days left.

92 6:30 AM alarms to set.

92 walks down the 100 hall.

92 days.

I haven't cried yet.

Probably because grey has always been one of my favorite colors.

And I prefer the overcast days.

But for him, grey was more than a neutral shade on the color wheel.

He was only a senior in high school.

We're all just seniors in high school.

And you keep asking us what we can do to change this.

What we can do to prevent this.

But last week, he stood up in my art class with a canvas covered in painted balloons and a happy sky,

and that didn't seem like any sign of depression.

So I'm sorry I didn't see this coming.

I'm sorry that none of us saw this coming.

I don't think it is our school's fault,

and Nelson, I don't think it's something in the water,

or something in the library. 

I don't know what it is, none of us do.

Were all just trying to make sense of it,

but I can't seem to wrap my head around this.

Because we only have 92 days left.

And we've already made it 733.

So choose to stay.

Choose to stay for the people who love you. 

Choose to stay for the poetry you haven't written. 

Choose to stay for the music you haven't heard, and the kisses you haven't had.

Choose to stay for the places you haven't seen, and the books you haven't read. 

Choose to stay for long drives up the canyon with your head out the window. 

Choose to stay for the beginning of your life. 

Because after all it's just 92 days away, 

and we've already made it 733. 

And high school was never meant to be the end.