It’s time to fly home. I don’t want to. I never want to fly home again. It’s foolish to think such things, and I know that, but I can’t stop thinking it. I’m sitting here in the chairs at the airport, waiting next to all these people who are flying back to California on the same flight. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. I just called my best friend and had to hold back tears with all my might as I told her how entirely depressed I was. I’d wanted to move to Seattle to be with my boyfriend but everyone said it was a bad idea and told me how horrible things would be if we broke up. How I would feel so alone and I wouldn’t be able to move back if I wanted to. So I listened, and decided that I would just stay with him for the summer and then come home for school. And now it was August and the summer had passed by more quickly than I’d ever imagined it would. How could I just go back to California and feel content with my life there now? It was simply impossible. I can’t stop thinking about him and how terrible life is going to be as I board the plane. I’m sitting here in my compact little chair, curled up as tightly as I can, and staring out the window. I look down at the wet tarmac and I can’t belief that I am actually leaving. I take my ipod out of my backpack and try to distract myself but it’s randomly shuffling to all the songs that talk about love, happiness, and California. On the flight over here I had been so excited and had talked to my passenger neighbors happily. Now I don’t even look over to see who has sat down next to me and I pull my hood up so they can’t see the tears that stream down my face. I’ve been crying the entire flight, and now I’m back in California, so far from Seattle. Even though it’s sunny outside, everything seems grayer than it had in rainy Seattle.