We were sophomores who had shaken off 20-something credits
While taking on water in our steadily sinking academic lives

A whole year spent weaning off weekends in our hometown
Left us isolated and alone in our rooms

You were a bull
Militant, or adamant to change

I was one too, in a fashion
With differences that seem to matter little now

When autumn had firmed into hard and steady ground
I finally grew tired of feeling sorry for myself
And shed what little was left for dead

And started brand new
With a heart that could finally let go
And begin to heal