Behold the Hurricane.

Sorry to wake you, Stella, but I'm having a kind of crisis. It's 1:30 Mountain time and I'm sitting two stories above the ground, which is itself about one mile above sea level, but my heart is about one thousand miles east. It's in Chicago, of course, but a block and a half north of an intersection that I never would have guessed had I been asked one week ago.
I was more than ready to go-- my friends and family had plenty of notice and, emotionally, the ties were essentially severed. And then-- hey, remember that girl I was really into for a few weeks in April? Well, I got in touch with her, told her I was moving, and made plans to grab a drink. I showed up alone and she brought her friend. That's where the trouble begins, of course. The night was spontaneous and drunken and fun and I, without meaning to, slept over at her friend's house. We were much better acquainted by the time we awoke and I was really excited to see if the preliminary plans we made would hold their ground.
Those plans held true and, though the night started off a bit slow as I dragged my feet through a sandwich and a rough first few shots, the night is etched in my mind as quite possibly my best of all time. It was sad saying goodbye to all my friends and I was so happy that everybody I truly care about actually came out (sans Juan). And it was a little awkward because I see friends like Emma and Dez as really, really great but they were strangers to my older friends. But then I stepped out for a cigarette with this girl who has been occupying a very large portion of my mind since I met her last Wednesday evening, and I kissed her and she kissed me back. And then we were normal again and everything made sense and I was leaving the next day but that was just a fact that didn't seem to have any bearing on our comfort level.
We fell asleep listening to our favorite band, to whom we have commemorated their insignia by way of identical tattoos on our respective bodies. And when we awoke she quit her job to stay in bed for an extra hour, and she drove me to meet my friend and I can still feel that last kiss even though I must have tasted like sleep and cigarettes and stale beer.
And herein lies the dilemma: what am I doing with my life? She said she'd come to visit me in October, which couldn't come soon enough. So what do I do? I'm tempted to drive back to Chicago in two weeks just to say hello. Or maybe I could move to St. Louis and feel closer while not failing on this venture away from home. I suppose this is very premature and I should actively try to ignore this situation. I don't know. If there's someone pulling the strings above the residents of this world then that someone is quite an asshole. She was at nearly every show I went to since freshman year of high school.