My vacation was both a smashing success and a big stinky dump truck backfiring in my face. Every second was bliss. Even all of the interesting New York smells. Yes, all of them.
I am home now. I am supposed to be feeling dreary and sad. I am supposed to be moping.
But I cannot be anything but happy. My cheeks ache. I cannot stop smiling. I am perfectly content.

Breakfast is like curtains, isn't it?

I wanted to go out there and:
1. Have a marvelous time and be friends.
2. Forget that I'd ever had a silly little crush.
But I was so busy with the first item on the list that I forgot the second. And I think that's okay.

I squeezed his pinky so tightly on the way to the airport this morning that I'm sure it turned blue in my hand.
If my life were a movie, there is a certain song that I know would play as the closing credits rolled. I chose it very carefully. That song crashed over me like an ocean as I memorized the planes of his face.
11 miles to Bradley airport

Half an hour after takeoff, I sat examining the back of my left hand very closely. I have a new freckle that seems to have popped up overnight.