You can never fully escape news from home, as much as you may want or need to, but thankfully the distance tempers the bitterness a bit. It seems that some things really never do change, and others are changing minute by minute, so that I can't even keep up. As for masochism, I think she knows better than me now, and from here on out, she gets what she deserves. It may be one off my shoulders, but somehow I still get shafted in the end. Not that it matters, right? But one does tire of being used as the whipping boy so often and so callously. Your concern for me is less than touching, I have to admit. Here I am, nine hundred miles away, enveloped in my favorite city, and you think your petty concern can even reach me through the evergreens? You give yourself too much credit. You're obviously never going to learn from her, so I guess you can learn from me. What I “carried here from the desert” was a ruse, just like the last two years of my life. I'm tired of burdening myself with your smoke and mirrors. You can't get to me here, I'm too far away, even for you.
The city was cheerful today, the people taking advantage of the rare sunshine. Even with my cousin's somewhat narrow-minded commentary, I was able to love the streets and cafes, the dogwood and poppies. The flowers stayed with me even after we departed the city. Wrapped in brown paper, miles and miles of flowers, the best and brightest the region and season have to offer. Cheap too, and on my list of reasons to get an apartment here as soon as possible. The imminence of possibility is tickling my curiosity. I'm eager to walk the streets alone, pluck up some courage and find a friend to spend an afternoon with, pop into a tattoo studio and make something permanent.