"I promised mama I'll make it"

I promised Mama, with her faded apron, the scent of her home-cooked meals, the gentle lullabies of her voice, that I would make it, chart my course, climb the mountains of hope. Every sunrise brought me dreams wrapped in ribbons, bright as the day, and as I walked down those halls, filled with laughter and echoes of old lockers, I felt the weight of her smile, thought of her warm hands, that cradled my fears, folded my worries like soft laundry. But somewhere between the first wide-eyed wonder and the humdrum routine, the rhythm shifted, and what once felt like a promise, now spins like a top too dizzy to stand still. I lost the map in a maze made of deadlines and whispers, the glances thrown at the clock, the racing heartbeats of test days, times when I thought I knew it all, but instead felt like a ship adrift in stormy seas, where hope fades, and dreams seem like shadows. Late-night cramming, the coffee stains on my notes, and the ticking talk of grades that hover like ghosts, a mural of what could’ve been, as burdens pile high, like unwashed dishes in the sink, each one a reminder of my promise, an echo in my mind, a melody