Maybe it's because I'm in Berkeley, surrounded by what we did and saw together, and surrounded by the people we both call our friends but I couldn't help but think of you, and probably miss you even.
A lot has happened since my last blog letter to you; I loved you again (go figure, old habits die hard) and you were a jerk again (go figure, old habits die hard). But I went to the Mission district tonight and thought about you the entire time. There were guys in skinny cords with cigarettes all over the neighborhood and I couldn't help but think of you and think how cute we would be walking the streets, browsing vintage shops and bookstores together. I ate a quesadilla and then remembered how you ate one for me once even though you don't like them. Knowing that you would have disapproved made it taste even better and let me tell you, it was pretty damn good to begin with. Anyway, I saw you a couple weeks ago at my favorite place in the world and had no choice but to leave because seeing you is like falling into a giant bush of poison ivy. I know I will probably be seeing you in two weeks and my friends will probably warn me against it but you know what? I'm not going to listen because I can't stop loving you.