On home
Moving into my dorm room freshman year, an exceedingly large and overwhelmingly empty double in Wilson, I remember someone—an RA, a FAC or maybe my dad—telling me “welcome home.” And I remember glancing around at the eclectic furniture around me, my family who would soon leave to drive back north to what I had always considered home, and the empty bed that would soon house a girl I had never met, and I wondered what my new home would look like.