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.