In freshman year, I opened a new tube of toothpaste.
It was minty and fresh and just as everyone knew it.
Seven days a week, twice a day, two to three minutes.
In freshman year, I opened the door to a building new to me.
Old walls that were experienced and tired.
Just as everyone knew it.
In sophomore year, I opened my laptop lid.
Began class online, confused and frustrated.
New to everyone everywhere.
In sophomore year, I opened my drawer.
Messed up my clothes and clothes and clothes,
Searched for something new and unworn.
In junior year, I opened my research project books.
Read for class, and read for fun.
Not anything new, likely chosen before.
In junior year, I opened my clarinet case.
Used since fourth grade.
Should probably get a new one.
In senior year, I opened my record player.
Old 1991 records listened for the first time in new 2021.
Round and round and round they went.
In senior year, I opened a new tube of toothpaste.
Fresh and minty, newly opened every few months.
Old routine, but brand new.