Professor Verbernelaan

I miss living out of a suitcase,
and washing my clothes by hand
in the slightly-dirty sink without a plug
by the showers.

I miss the unmistakeable smell of weed
that tell-take sign that my flatmates
are home, are happy, are safe,
but are mostly amusing to watch.

I miss the seventy-two stairs to the fifth floor,
that hellish climb that always ended with
an overwhelming sense of relief,
and the feeling that I was where I belonged.

I miss the constant noise in the morning;
the Koreans showering at 3AM,
the Frenchman and his drunken techno at 4AM,
and my neighbour’s Netflix shows at 5AM.

I miss barbecues outside in the summer,
with cider and beer and laughter,
with the sun beating down on us
until our skin was burned scarlet red.

I miss four-in-the-morning conversations,
fuelled by alcohol and takeaway pizza,
about aliens, about culture, about space,
and about anything and everything in-between.

I miss the move nights in the living room,
watching any movie that we could find online,
with everybody curled up on the sofas with duvets,
and not a single care in the entire world.

I miss my friends more than I can ever express,
but when I’m feeling down, blue or downtrodden,
I remind myself that I still have the memories,
and nobody can take that away from me.