COMING HOME...

"How bitter sweet", he thought as he walked the halls of his alma mater. He stared at the buildings where his education was housed, the quad where he often hung with friends, the streets parked on over and over again. Years had gone by since he'd last been, perhaps too many. Nothing looked the same, and yet somehow, it all still stood in great familiarity. He cracked a smile as he thought about his old loves and the places they made out. The corners used for kissing, the hallways of holding hands... He imagined his younger self, wide eyed and full of hope. He stepped into the chapel where he'd spent hours for talent contest and debates and sat on his favorite row. The chairs were new, but the air was not. He could sense the memories in room, they were in the floors and walls. The emotions were overwhelming as he watched hundreds upon hundreds of people meet with long lost friends. The hugs, the handshakes, the smiles and genuine laughter, a sea of beautiful black people with no malice in their hearts or ill intentions, but just pure love. We all danced to the songs of "our day" and laughed at old dance moves we'd long forgot and the steps we couldn't quite remember. Time, although different to us all, had yet still been the same in one regard, it simply moved too fast. How do I capture ten years in ten minutes I wondered, trying to speak to every single person I knew? As quickly as I arrived I found myself packing my bags to leave. My heart was full of joy at the time spent, the laughs shared, and I thought to myself, what do I say, to voice how proud I was of where I came from? The answer was pretty simple. "Thank you Bethune Cookman University, and as always, Hail Wildcats".