Game day.

Black dress seems right for today.

A missed connection.

Something about the way these sentences fall out of their mouth affirms that this isn’t right for me.

But this pumpkin creme brulee.

The click-clack of my boots against the cold pavement. Brown and yellow leaves and moisture in the air. No sun. Fall.

She asks me how I’m feeling. I tell her I’m always nervous on game days. That I felt like I wanted to throw up after I crossed the Pope Street bridge. How many years do I have to do this before I stop feeling nervous?

I misinterpreted all of the noise. Too close. Too close.

Yeah. I have a good feeling about this year. 1-0.

Forgot about these sleepless nights.