I’m a student at Appalachian State University in North Carolina, and I live in a residence hall bearing the unassuming name “Cone”. The building is, tragically, a rectangular prism, and is physically similar to pretty much every other dorm on campus. On paper it is in every respect normal. Yet Cone Residence Hall has something, and advantage that sets it apart from everywhere else on campus that I’ve been to.
Cone has the right people. Cone is the perfect mixture of different kinds of amazing people, and it generates an incredible culture. I live on the fifth floor, and I am missing the people on that floor so much it’s painful. I’m normally the cynical person when people get very emotional about their friends. In the back of my head I find myself thinking about how that set of friends will never last, how their emotions will fade over distance, how they may not even feel the same way when they wake up tomorrow. I suppose those things are true of Cone, but don’t care. Might we drift apart in the future? Yes. But right now, in this moment, I love Cone Hall. Facebook is a poor substitute for their laughter, tears, hugs, voices, crazy dances, and melodrama. I want to go home.
Take me back to Cone.
Today’s First Sentence: I could have sworn I turned the power off before I left, but the police assured me that the first was electrical.
Where's Waldon? 