“Welcome home” he said to me, as I packed up my computer to go. I felt like I’d been away from Haverford for ages, not less than 48 hours. It’s a little ridiculous.
As I walked westward to Ardmore from the North dorms, the stars above caught my eye in their brilliance. I turned around to see the big dipper standing on end, balanced precariously on its handle, the flashing red lights on the radio towers to the north up by King of Prussia that reflect onto the duck pond, and a mist-swathed string of streetlights leading up the hill into the trees. A disembodied pair of headlights emerged from Duck Pond Lane as I passed Barclay into another soupy cloud of fog, and I couldn’t think as a result of all my conflicting sensations. The cool night air should have woken up my brain, sharpened my mental processes, but it only made the twinkling constellations more diamond-like on that dark navy velvet sky, and confused me even more. One of the things that I’ve learned about my often invasive introspection is that although I may be very critical about things and flatter myself observant, other phenomena take a surprisingly long time to sink in. It’s been nearly a month, and I still don’t really want to acknowledge that it’s real. It's hard enough to tell myself that I'm actually in a functioning relationship, let alone attribute my newfound peace of mind to the actions and/or presence of another person besides myself. Yes, I know I can be perversely self-reliant at times, not the most flattering of characteristics.
“Welcome home” he said, and it felt true, it felt right. “You sound happy,” Rachael said today on the phone (post-Rhodes-congratulation), and it sounded like the truth. I can’t quite admit it straight faced yet, but it shows through to the people that know me well, despite the wishes of my black little sarcastic heart. I am happy, and the scary thing is I know why.
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