Home is a feeling, not a place.
Returning to my old college campus reminded me of this quote. The building where I took Theology lectures looked the same. It’s worn exterior reminded me of the mornings I hurried in, notebook ready to be filled with daily wisdoms. The path through campus was as cobbly as before, and I remembered the numerous heels it destroyed. A few changes were sprinkled around: added outdoor seating, a new paved path to cover the dead grass we would trample to cut across, and another restaurant to replace the one that never survived the isolated summers. It was all once my home, but it didn’t carry the same significance it used to.
I walked through with my friends, those who shared years of shenanigans with me during our time there. Eight years later, it felt like no days had passed. This campus was just a skeleton of the memories and friendships built, a house that no longer held us. The people I love dearly, they are my home.