Dearest Diary,
With a single day of lessons remaining I grapple with feeling forlorn coupled with eager anticipation. It is not uncommon when looking into the summer holidays and wondering what next year's crop of schoolchildren will be like. I have grown quite attached to many of them and hesitate to let them go. But alas, it is inevitable that children will at some point cease to be children. And mine shall encroach on such a milestone as they leave the schoolhouse tomorrow afternoon. With no children of my own to speak of, I must take pride in those not my own, but perhaps under my tutelage for a time. I wish them the best of luck. And I pray diligently that they return to visit from time to time.
On the contrary, there is a reasonable amount of eagerness within me that desires the separation for a time. It is not altogether the weight of being responsible for the wellness of each child, but the hour at which such duties begin. It is no secret that I am better acquainted with the midnights and noons than the mornings with which I am expected to be alert. It has been said there are daggers in mine eyes at such an hour. I cannot concede, nor can I disagree. But I cannot doubt they express what I feel. At that I am particularly transparent.
Perhaps if we bid goodnight, they will not be quite so on the morrow...
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