Dear Boston, The Final Chapter

Dinner was great. We talked and talked, and really just enjoyed each other's company. But on the walk home, it got awkward, knowing what we had to talk about.

He isn't willing to rearrange his life for me. He'd like to think that somewhere out there, he'd find a girl that he is willing to do it for, but it isn't me, I'm not the one.

There is a lot of finality there, of which I am thankful for.

As we'd sat on my bed, getting ready for him to leave for the final time, I told him about the past week. About how I couldn't eat, couldn't sleep, couldn't run, and how I had to fake a lot of smiles and laughter. He started to cry. "But that isn't you," he told me. "That is what I like best about you, that you are independent and stubborn."

But it is me right now. I don't like it either. So I think I am going to hideout until I feel better. Maybe a solo camping trip to clear my head. I'm going to emmerse myself in my book, watch some crappy television, and focus (or try to) on the work I need to get done. I'm not doing to see my friends. I love them, but I want to be alone. I don't want to feel like a sympathy case. I don't need to talk, I just need time.

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You know what I really hate. I hate having to tell my mom. I hate having to let her listen to me cry, from 3000 miles away. I hate telling my roommates, who I am not close enough with to normally tell, but will notice he isn't around and that I am around more. I hate having to take down the pictures and being left with an empty space on the wall.

But so is life...