DEAD HEART PROBLEMS

Remember November of 2011. We met without warning or mercy. It was fall where you were. You told me about how autumn is your favorite season because (1) the change is so palpable you can almost touch it and (2) the colors remind you of the earth.

We don’t have autumns here. We only have snarky summers and floods. I’m sure you’ve heard news about our beloved metro sinking as the tides grew stronger. It gets tiring but we’ve grown accustomed to it and adjusted pretty well.

I don’t like autumns even if I hadn’t seen it or felt it or experienced having it in real life. I’ve seen enough autumns in my head. I’ve pictured a perfect universe consisting of you and me staying in, having a cup of tea, watching the trees dance to the soft wind’s slow rhythm. We stay silent for ten minutes and that’s all it takes to convince me that this – this quiet is my kind of happy. That I don’t need to fill these gaps of dead air with humming or tacky comments or voice-overs like the ones on Glee to make a person stay, to have a meaningful connection with somebody.

I don’t like autumns because they not only remind me of you but also of the endless possibilities that my happy place is not, and will never be, enough. That my lenience towards stasis comes off as an inability to adapt rather than a quirk or a choice or a way to cherish limited days with what my heart desires.

Autumn is a season for change and some of us might not want that. Perhaps some have their feet glued to the rust-colored earth. It could be that some people find comfort in not changing, in chancing upon what they like and sticking to it for a long time.

Maybe I am not ready to leave my happy place. And that is how you lost me.

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