That feeling? When you look at me? I'm hot, self conscious, wondering what you think, desperate to know, reluctant to ask.

Passion. You know that wanting that has me up at 2 am writing these letters, hoping to capture even a small part of how I'm feeling, to send to you.

Confession. I've been jealous. Every time a friend meets a perfect guy and things look promising? And I'm microwaving Indian takeout, alone with my standards.

There is something romantic about Autumn. The way some leaves change colour to die in their best, extinguishing in shocking fits of orange and fires of red. I have always loved the fall. Any fall. Fal...