White Stag

I wish I could create a time machine to relive the memories White Stag gave me, to relive the cotton candy sunset and the shooting star I made a wish on and the sunrise I watched from the top of a hill with the rest of my patrol and the burning in my throat as I yelled, confident and unafraid, during the night hike and the hug I didn't want to release and the 3 feet pool I laughed and splashed in and the shower I took at the mess hall sink and the rock I carved and the tree my patrol sat under to escape the unbearable heat and the campfire I teared up at and the song I didn't want to end and feeling of pride I felt blossom in my chest the moment I reached the top of the hill and the burrito my patrol tried to roll up in and the round of truth or dare we played and keeled over laughing at and the deafening silence at midnight when we stared up at the stars and were awestruck of the universe and the constellations we pointed out to each other and the friends that became family and the campsite that became home and the songs that became anthems and the violet bracelet made of spirit cord that I will never take off and the 150 hours we spent together and the 6 days we cherished as a closely knit group and the gratitude and admiration I felt the last day we had and the roaring in my veins the hike down to the parking lot where we'd return to our own separate lives and the tears that spilled over my eyelashes all the drive home and the shaking I tried to control as I sat in the backseat and thought of the memories I would always keep and the knuckles I used to dry my red eyes and the hand I used to tightly clutch the signed stave like it was a life boat and I was drowning fast and the body that didn't feel like my own as I lay in bed and looked through the pictures I'd took and let my tears stain the cotton pillow.