I always think that I like fall, but I’m pretty sure that’s only from a distance. Maybe I just like the idea of it. So many years, I’ve looked forward to jackets and sweaters and boots, the beauty of trees changing from green to red and orange, crunchy leaves beneath my feet on the sidewalk. Cool nights with the windows open, Joshua Radin and Damien Rice and Azure Ray on the iPod, wind in my hair and a scarf around my neck.
But then fall comes. And it’s never what I hoped for. It’s just the beginning of the end of the good parts of the year. It’s dark inside and out, and I always think that will change, with age or maturity or life just being better in general. But it doesn’t, not really. Or at least not enough.
So here’s hoping this year is more indie soundtrack and fewer nights huddled on the couch next to my sun lamp. Here’s hoping this time is different.


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