To the person with whom we wish we could enjoy Autumn,

I saw an empty bench today with a sprinkling of leaves scattered around its base. It was actually not all that extraordinary in the grand scheme of things, but it struck me nonetheless — not because of its lack of occupants nor perfect symmetry, but because I thought about how it would be to take a seat and enjoy it with you for an afternoon.

You prick.

Yeah, I said it — you're a right bastard and you know it.

As a person who has difficulty expressing themselves in the most basic ways, you've made my life infinitely more difficult by encouraging me to…feel things. How disorientingly quaint of you.

Over the course of our acquaintanceship (I will not stoop to friendship, let alone relationship), you've practically dragged me into your web of good will and pleasantness to the point of no return.

"What do you mean, 'point of no return'?"

By God, I've actually turned BASIC.

Not only am I imagining an afternoon with long scarves & jean jackets, and afternoon plans to go apple picking…but I'm actually debating getting a pumpkin spice latte — a #PSL — the most basic of drinks in Starbucks' arsenal. This doesn't even begin to explain my newly activated Pinterest account and excess of twinkling lights in my Amazon shopping cart.

I don't know if this version of myself was already within me or if you brought it out, dragging and screaming along the way. Regardless of whoever started it, I'm going to finish it and put this Basicness to an end immediately, for fear of me succumbing and losing my already unstable hipsterness.

To start, let's purge a bit more: you're not cool, so take the smirk that's probably on your face right now and shove it up an acorn-crazed chipmunk's butt, thankyouverymuch. You cannot take full responsibility for my feeling warm and fuzzy during this time of year; there have been many different studies regarding the increased vulnerability of singles with holidays just around the corner and the instinct to curl up with another warm body against the cold front. In reality, I can't be blamed for my own instincts based on genetics and pressured social norms.

Again, take that smirk off your face.

My point is that just because I feel all warm and fuzzy doesn't mean you should take any amount of credit as it's completely coincidental. I'm sure that if a lovely lumberjack with toned arms, a flannel button down, and steel-toed boots stepped out from the woods, my fleeting fantasy would probably be about them. Unfortunately, though, you popped into my head instead.

Don't worry — I'm upset too, but now we have to make the best of a piss-poor situation.

So, kindly step out of my season and any subsequent fantasies that may follow. I'd like to enjoy my corn mazes and pumpkin carving and hay bale rides and haunted tours and roaring bonfires…alone, thank you.

In short, it would be great if I didn't think about Basic Shit like warm and fuzzy feelings every time I walk past that bench.

…so stop doing all that.

Much obliged,

Anonymous

P.S. Kindly fuck off. Or fuck closer. Just fuck something.