Coming to Yale, I felt vulnerable, exposed to the elements, raw. I was afraid. I was not only a first-year, but a first-year that was scared. A first-year going to Yale, for the first time. Yale was a new experience for me. Because I was a first-year who had never been to Yale. It was only underneath the radiating light of Chase Bank where I found my true home.
Chase Bank is the North Star, and I am all three of the Three Kings. When I was lost in the labyrinth that is the intersection of Temple and Grove, Chase led me back. Its moonlit post-modern luminance embraced me on the many drunken trudges back to my dorm. When all else abandoned me (as everything inevitably does), Chase Bank radiated onto myself and the tortured souls of Timothy Dwight.
I am now no longer a first-year. I sip the Devil’s drink less, these days. And yet, the psychosis of Wall Street grips me still.
I have not been awake in days. There is a beast inside of me and I do not know how to ride it. I have a newfound love for crustaceans. I call my family more. My work-life balance has improved significantly. Sustenance is fleeting. I think about the end, sometimes. I consider deleting Reddit. My abandoned soul howls into the night as only a whimper can escape my sewn lips.
But it stays. The rays of Chase Bank — in all their wavelengths and glory — follow me still. My bedroom window faces Temple but my dreams are that familiar golden bronze. It is through this haze that I see you.
I have not slept in days. I cannot look away.
I cannot look away.
