Alma Mater

The cold morning breeze ushers in the ultimatum,
it is time, time indeed,
to leave my alma mater.

Bags at bay, trolley in hand,
I gaze back at my boarding room,
the very room,
that once had seemed shabby, dim and bland.

And yet, over time, it had transformed
to my abode, my safe space.
Time bends perceptions, does it not?
Moulds the mind to embrace the odds.

Today, of all days,
the room seems flawless,
perfect with its imperfections -
the cracked walls, the pitted floor.
Makes me wonder -
was perfection ever ubiquitous?

The last sunrise over my tapering balcony,
the first of many such lasts?
Possibly a testament to life's undulating journey,
traversing through the bright and the monotony.

Many have left before me,
And many more shall,
And makes me wonder -
does the room have its story?
Or is it just a part of mine?