I left the town and the girl I loved to come to college when I was 18. The night before I left, she came over and cried, which made me cry, so we cried together about being torn apart by the unloving forward movement of time. The next day she watched as my parents packed my car and drove away, and she texted me the entire time.

I still go home sometimes, for weekends, vacations and holidays, but I never see the girl I once loved. She loves someone else now, and I love no one, and that’s exactly how it’s supposed to go. I’m not even sure I love the town anymore, but I realize it’s prettier than I gave it credit for. However, when I go there now, the friends aren’t around, the school no longer my own and when I walk my dog on the farms the regulars look at me with an hint of distrust, as if I’m a foreigner in their land.

The scenery could be on a postcard somewhere. “Welcome to Small-Town Massachusetts, the town that soon forgets.”