Last night I sat in my car and talked for an hour with an old friend. We talked about New York and Puerto Rico- what it would be like to move back to either place. In some ways I am certain I will move even if I feel uncertain about it. I love LA. If you give this city a chance it opens up before your eyes. It’s magic is the everyday kind which is the most special kind. It’s the smell of jasmine and the streets lined with purple Jacaranda trees in spring, the constant battle of nature vs. concrete, the canyons in the middle of the city, the snowy mountains at a distance when it’s seventy degrees in the city, and the desert so close by, and the old ladies that were once probably starlets, and Jumbo’s Clown Room, and twenty-four hour Korean Spas. Maybe I’ve read to many Francesca Lia Block novels. Last night I slept over at my friend’s house and when I left this morning and stepped out on to Beachwood I just had the most overwhelming love for the city. Maybe I just love cities. New York used to fill my heart with joy. Simply just being there was also witchy.

I miss Leo. He sent some of my mail and put a chocolate bar with it. I know he’s being sweet. I know he misses me. I know leaving was the right thing but I do really, really miss the constant joy I felt the last six years- give or take a dozen fights and all the crying I did before I left.

On the phone last night my friend mentioned that a mutual friend I’d had a romp with was engaged. All but one of the rascally boys I dated between my previous ex and Leo have gotten married or are about to. It doesn’t mean anything. I know whatever is right for me will come when it’s supposed to but the irony is not lost on me.