Alma mater.

On our trip up to Massachusetts last weekend, we took a couple of detours to visit our alma maters. Which became a little funny, in a way. Wandering around empty campuses that have pockets of memories everywhere - the hallway in which I decided I wasn't terribly passionate about kinesiology (but is anyone, really?), the quad where I dished out ice cream during my stint on the Campus Events Council, the dorm where I spent (too) many sleepless nights because every day was too short to be spent partially unconscious.

And husband. How tall he somehow looked, without gaining an inch in the years since graduation. "Here's where we walked after that dance your junior year," I said. The one that you took me to out of obligation, desperation. Out of somehow wanting back a relationship that was broken for a season. You'd been willing to sit through a night in which we were forced to listen to Jordan Sparks not once, but three times. And I still can't hear certain songs without thinking about that toile on my dress, and how toile is a terrible thing to use as a tissue.

Funny in that way.

I suppose the funniest bit is how much time we spend wishing back places, things, sometimes people, when what we're really wishing is for reconciled perspective, or a way to tell yourself how truly right or wrong you were then.