The tan brick buildings loom in my hindsight.
Guitar slung across my left shoulder
and my belongings in a thread-weary bag,
suspended from the other.
I try not to gaze back at the campus,
because I know the secrets contained within their walls
are the archives of my life.
But despite my efforts, my past will haunt me,
in ways both empowering and crippling.
The oldest of the records impart their wisdom to me.
The youngers remind me to never forget my humble origins.
And the youngest of all taught me how to live.
Most of them weren't real,
just props fallen through the holes in my stage
at critical moments.
But some of them remain,
their shadows burned into the film
that covers the reel room
of my mind.
Impulsively I pivot to look back at the walls.
I stand much taller than them.
They stand,
almost bowed before me,
as I have outgrown them.
I turn back around.
The new walls tower ninety feet tall.
But already I sense them coming down to welcome me
until I can stand looking over them.
Like the world I left behind,
this one too cannot contain me for long.
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