Outside, as it's just after dark and the air is still warm, I pass people. Dressed up, going out.

Greek formal season is upon us, except of course, not really, since it's upon a few and they're the few that I pass on my walk home. Long gowns, tuxes, gowns and suits -- some with flowers, some with whole bouquets that a girl will awkwardly take in her arms with 'thank you's' and 'aw, they're beautiful's' in the air, wondering to herself what, exactly, she should do with them.

Throngs of well dressed people clog the entranceway to the Quad and I look down -- tank top, old jeans and sandals that make loud, slapping noises with each step.

The smell of a familiar cologne catches my attention and causes me to turn my head, although I'm not quite sure what I'm expecting to see. Some smells still do that to me, though.

I can't help but think of the proms, the semi-formals, graduation dances and graduation itself -- all the stupid occassions that, I guess, mark something, and are at the very least, a reason to go out and buy flowers to for another person to wear. Prom was a year ago today, I think.

I think I've come a long way since then. I remember that night -- the dress, I didn't like so much as the one the year before, the hair that I just don't know what the hairdresser was thinking when she created and the stupid drama that of course, finds its way into everything.

After the prom, I remember pacing around, upset and distracted.

"Do you want to have a cigarette with me?" my sister asked.

"I don't smoke. You know that --"

"I know. That's the point."

And maybe she did have a point. I went outside, she said she'd be right out.

Once outside, I crumpled -- or to be more precise -- threw myself across the hood of EJ's car, still sort of warm. I cried.

I cried for a lot of dumb high school reasons, like I didn't know what was happening with my relationship, because things were ending, because there were problems in my family I couldn't deal with, and because I couldn't help but feel that I was terribly alone and that in a very few short months, I would be completely alone, and completely lost.

As things turned out, maybe not. But as things wind down and months turn into weeks and days, I'm starting to be afraid of going back. I associate a lot of that with feeling lost -- like if I have nothing immediately around me to show for my accomplishments, they may as well not exist.

And then, as I was walking back to my dorm again, later -- this time from studying (or trying to, at least) I encountered the formalwearers again. But this time, it was more of a trickle than a rush -- the cabs pulling up with one or two couples, the quiet walks back to dorms. And once again, my old sweatshirt and jeans made me wonder if maybe I wasn't just a little lost afterall.

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