There is such an air about the camp that everyone is suddenly and very painfully aware of the shortness of our time together and that, despite what we would have, summer (and camp) are drawing to a temporary end. There is never enough time. Time, time, time. It passes too quickly at DLA. Could I want for more? Yes. There should be more. More time for DLA.
To the point. Today passed by in a blur. Waking up to music that I can't understand, but still love, and cold, blatantly processed breakfast that I do understand and will never love. We had the end of Midnight Mayhem (Can I get a "Finally!" in the house?) and of Dark Jungle's (Hoo ha ha! Take that, Desert Sand!) too-short time in the winning Quidditch brackets. Amusing myself at those Quidditch games and applauding my decision to not play and instead be a creepy little spectator. Writing heartfelt notes to the citizens of Joplin. Food. House group meetings. Free time. More food. And terrible heat throughout the whole of it.
The day ended on a somewhat melancholy note: Poetry Slam. DLAers submitted for judgment their original works of poetry. Some mournful, others reminiscent, but all of them fantastic. Immediately following that was Poetry Night, in which there were still more original works and recitations of others' work, non of which were judged. Tears were shed. Pasts revealed. Masks shattered. It was a truly bonding experience and a fantastic last note for the day.
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