Alright. I'll admit it. I miss you.
This is hard for me to admit as I spent alot of our time together complaining about you, comparing you to others, plotting my escape from you. But there it is. I opened the internet today to an article about New England leaf peeping and all of the sudden I forgot your miserable winters and your distance from my family and the Red Sox horrible season and just wanted to see you. I want to pull my sweaters out of the dark recesses of my closet and dress in layers and buy new boots and bake pumpkin pies and go to high school football games and corn mazes and pick apples and roadtrip to New York and flirt with the new crop of grad school kids at church. I want one last swim at Walden Pond in the long shadows of summer's end. I want turtlenecks and rowing competitions and Arrested Development in front of the fireplace.
I know. I'm irrational, I'm experiencing selective memory disease. I know that if I lived in Boston right now, I would be so busy dreading the coming snow that I would have little time to enjoy how fresh and alive everyone looks when they are just pleasantly chilled. I would be spending more time worrying about snow tires and crazy heating bills then being grateful for a few more outdoor runs along the Charles.
So don't think I want you back, I don't.
At least I don't think I do.
Whatever, nevermind. Don't respond. I probably won't even send this.