Academia is a broken record.

I am here.

I am in the halls.

I am in the rooms.

The remnants of my steps still lay on the thin carpeting.

Breathless.

Yet Here I am.

A shell of a person.

Repeating.

Repeating.

Repeating.

The monotony races.

Untitled, 2006 Watercolor and ink on paper by Marcel Dzama

People look at me and stare.

Their eyes burn in my flesh.

do not know their names,

I do not know their faces.

Yet here I am.

A shell of a person.

Running through the motions that this academia promotes.

Shadows of regret loom over me.

I had my choice,

I made my decision long ago.

The option to turn back is no longer

'the option'.

I feel alone.

And when I turn the corner,

I look at all of them.

Just like me.

The shells of all the people.

And just as I think to be like the others,

to stare and to burn,

I smile and say hello.

And yet here we all are,

shells of people.

We are all broken records,

and we are all truly the same.

And then I am happy.

Breathing again.

-Lexi