MICA

But I miss most, the smell of MICA, of newness, of summer, of the light greens and the dark brick reds. I miss seeing those new faces and secretly choosing my favorites. I miss slowly getting to know them – first by names, then as people, later as friends, now as MICAns. I miss those mornings – bright and sunny, cloudy and rainy, dark and cold, all kinds. And those nights that had a peculiar unending craze for life. I miss those benches, of beginnings and ends. The long walks, between benches. I miss the strength of MICA, and its luck. And I miss most seeing Rohan for the first time.