Tuesday, June 10, 2014

pursued by skunks

Reality's a lovely place, but I wouldn't want to live there.
--The Real World, Owl City

And just like that, only several hours and one Missionary of Charity sighting later, I am back.
I felt as though I had somehow cheated.
I had found a wormhole, a loophole in time that has allowed me to come back to this place which is no longer really my home.
As I stepped on campus, the world was hazy with the surreal nature of reunion.
As I ran through the rain, the sidewalks reflected the familiar buildings back up at me.
The pavements were riddled with memories, the entire campus was painted in a heavy wash of rhythm, rhythms that have soaked themselves into each tree,
each bench,
each building.
Trying to picture a life that is not lived in that rhythm sort of knocks the wind out of me for a moment.
My heart skips a beat, as it's not sure how to process this idea.
As I ran, my heart filled with fond memories at each step.
As the rain kissed my skin, I stopped at the Grotto.
It was silent, quiet. There was no one there.
Campus was guarded only by the dear priests in Corby Hall and the bells of the basilica ringing.
They played the Alma Mater, and I tried to remember the last time I had heard their sweet, familiar sound. I felt it must have been at least a year.
How could I have gone an entire year without their sweet anthem?
And I realized, in a flash, that this summer will be a lesson in learning to let go.
I walked through the trees, the last raindrops falling off the trees.
I looked up into the sweet, inky eternity of the night sky.
And I felt a rush of gratitude for my new little dorm room and the surreal and strange five weeks I get to live in it.
It is a grace period. 
A period in which to live inside the aberration of the rhythm and to say goodbye.

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