The Sidewalk Is Haunted

That's where our walk from one end of campus to the other started. That's where we were when a sleepy student yelled out his window to tell us our laughter was too loud. That's where he ran ahead to hide behind a corner, and that's where we screamed when he jumped out from the corner. That's where she got her running start, and that patch of grass is where she tackled him to the ground. That's where I doubled over in laughter.

Way over there. . . that's where I sat alone when I needed to think. And way over there, in the opposite direction. . . that's where I sat alone when I needed to escape. And way over there, there's a bench hidden beside some bushes. . . that's where we sat when we needed to escape together.

That's the route we took when we walked in the rain for no reason. That's the route we took when we walked and talked about "us." That's the route we took when we needed late-night caffeine before finishing our work.

And this is the route I take when I remember. When I see life playing out as a film. When I wish that I could have the past four years back. When I wish that the sidewalks were alive, rather than haunted.