Hopwood

I'm sitting on the pillared front steps of my old college's English building as I write this. Three stories up is my old dusty attic office from when I was editor of the lit rag here. I thought of going up there, trying the door, but it was supposed to be haunted, and I'm not as quick at ducking ghosts as I used to be.
I'm trying to get back in touch with the girl I was then, but I'm mostly feeling sad, unwanted, and perfectly alone and okay with my existence.