December 10th

          I always thought of myself as being that person who didn't really care much about things that mattered to most people. Like the fantasy of bumping into the person whose key fits your lock, the immaculate white ceremony, and the picket fence. I liked to think that I was perfectly fine being perfectly lonely in my big empty house made of books and stories and Sunday's newspaper and coffee and words and lovely little thoughts about everything and nothing at all. And I liked the idea of adopting a cat to keep me company...

          But there's been a change in the weather.

        Today, I feel myself wanting to share a messy little apartment above a shop with someone whose key fits my lock. And I want to share those books and stories and words and thoughts with someone who's as fragmentary as I am to be able to appreciate them. And I want to fight over the newspaper because who ever gets it first will leave a ring-shaped coffee stain on the part that the other really wanted to read, and maybe we could share the crossword. And I don't feel like I need a cat anymore because I know that you would hog the blankets and steal the warmth just as promisingly.

          More than anything, I find myself falling in love with the word "us," and I hope that one day you will take another chance on me and begin to love it as much as I do.