The night before Jordan left, twelve hours before his flight’s departure, to be exact, we finished packing for our separate trips, zipped up the red Swiss Gear suitcases that we’d received as a wedding gift five years ago from Amy’s parents – Everyone needs a good set of luggage, they told us at the time – and marched our way from the bedroom to our favorite spot on the couch. We’ve worn that spot in over five years of marriage. It fits us like an experienced hand in an old glove. Amy got comfortable in our favorite little corner of the world, settling and snuggling herself into the leather material that we wouldn’t have chosen ourselves (we’re cloth people; it just feels cozier) but have grown to love.

Jordan didn’t hesitate – he rarely does – as he marched into the kitchen (his domain) and pulled the same three supplies from the same three spaces that he does every night: a scooper from the drawer, cones from the cupboard, and ice cream from the freezer. Jordan didn’t love cones before Amy. He still doesn’t. They’re fine, but a bowl’s just as good to him. He’s the type that doesn’t need to look at a menu at a restaurant. What are you known for here? he often asks, and then just takes the waiter’s recommendation. He’s adventurous and a human garbage disposal all at the same time. So, in short, there’s not much he doesn’t eat. Amy’s different, though. She’s knows what she likes and what she doesn’t, and when she finds something she does, that’s what she wants. Cookies ‘n’ cream in a waffle cone in one of those things. Cones and sprinkles are fun, she reminds Jordan when he forgets. Just like her, he then remembers, a splash of color and brightness in what would otherwise be his vanilla world.

That night, we caught up on our favorite shows that’ve been neglected and passed over for work, and for a few hours, if we would’ve looked in the mirror, we’re sure we would’ve seen our college selves again, giggling and cuddling without a care in the world. We still giggle and cuddle a lot, of course, but the older we get, the more cares in the world we seem to have, and the more difficult they are to leave behind. We didn’t want to fall asleep that night, because it’d be our last one together for five, and our first time on separate continents since college, so we stayed up in bed well after the lights were out and talked like two friends at a sleepover. It brought us back to our first night there five years, one month, and twenty-nine days earlier, when we thought life couldn’t get any better, because we had everything we needed in that four foot by six foot stretch of the world.

If we’re being honest, the next morning was painful. A little bit harder to breath than normal. A little more difficult to look each other in the eyes. Because we knew we’d be saying goodbye soon. It may seems silly to some, but when it comes to each other, we’re really not good at goodbye. We never have been. We never will be. Because what roots like to be separated from their soil? The ripping is unnatural.

So, we cried. We said our sloppy goodbye. We buried our faces in each other’s necks, held on tighter than we ever had before, breathed deep breaths, and promised, like we always do when we have to be apart, that we’re never doing this again.

And, just like that, Amy was off to the Northern Arizona pines for a weekend away with a great friend and Jordan was bound for Oxford, England to photograph some of the world’s most respected Biblical scholars converging on the academic of all European cities from every corner of the globe. When he wasn’t working, he walked the city streets inside and out, and determined that, because it’s now one of his favorite places in Europe, Amy’s coming with him next time.