Fall was always a time of peculiar melancholia for Sam. He could never quite understand the mixture of impressions the season gave him that were more than physical sensations yet less than emotions. He felt something like mourning: the passing of summer, the slow acceptance of crisp weather and the musk of dying leaves. Yet the season also had a sense of promise: there were places that the cold weather only made more cozy and inviting, there was the seasonal food that brought comfort, and it was the time he first fell in love.

Sam reminisced on his time with Jessica as he walked out of class. They had been so young back then, so fresh and vibrant and drunk on dreams and futures and lust and love. They had held hands in parks and gone on breakfast dates and talked about philosophy and science and history. They met each other's families and spent holidays together and moved in together. They made love. They had a child together.

But they changed.

As Sam and Jessica grew older, Sam felt that they he had matured past their relationship. It didn't fit. He denied it for a long time, doubting himself, asking himself if he was simply being too picky, too idealistic. He knew Jessica thought he was being too idealistic. There was nothing wrong, strictly speaking. Only they started to be a little too fake with one another and not quite thoughtful enough and not quite in love anymore. Sam loved Jessica - he still did. But he wasn't in love with Jessica.

A year ago, he had thought that he had everything figured out - that his little family unit would someday buy a house on the outskirts of a nice city, and he would be a lawyer, and Jess could work part-time or not at all, if she wanted, and their daughter Mary would have two stable, normal, happy parents. Sam wanted that life so badly. But he knew that to have that, he would have to lie to himself, to sacrifice some part of who he was and what he needed in a relationship.

I'm not even sure what I need, Sam thought, as he pulled his beanie tighter over his ears. He only had a semblance of a piece of an idea: that he wanted something - someone - with more depth, more passion. Something more real.

I mean, some people actually do have happy, meaningful relationships, right? But maybe that's not just meant for me. Maybe soulmates do exist, but not everyone gets to find theirs. Sam hoped that maybe he could have a few relationships throughout the rest of his life, and prayed that they had both fallen sufficiently out of love for it not to hurt too badly when it ended.

Sam sighed. He was such a lonely sap. He didn't miss Jess; but he did miss waking up next to someone and someone asking about his day when he got home. He missed having someone to talk to besides Mary - who didn't say more than one word in a row yet.

Sam's lips curled upward at the thought of Mary. She had her mother's curls, but she had his chestnut hair and his dimples and his eyes. She was now a year and a half old, and her favorite things to do were read books, climb onto his desk, and eat paper. Sam was honestly surprised she hadn't gotten some sort of intestinal blockage yet. Mary took her time chewing and poking at her fruits and veggies, but paper? Sam swore she swallowed whole chunks without chewing. If he left an article on the coffee table, or let her look at her picture books unattended, she would be sure to be found nibbling on the cellulose as if it were a fine delicacy.

Sam's musing while he walked meant that he was already downtown. It was a bit out of his way to his apartment, but he was changing his routine. Sam used to study in the library on campus and buy his daily coffee there, but this semester he was on a particularly tight budget and the five dollars a pop for the coffee at the student-run on-campus café was eating away at his savings. Sam had mentioned as much to a classmate, who mentioned that there was a new coffee shop not far from main campus that was very reasonably priced and had excellent pastries as well.

Sam had reasoned that he could do with a bit of extra exercise anyway. His classes were particularly difficult this term and his workout routine had been lacking as of late. He could already tell he was losing muscle mass. Not like there was anyone around to appreciate his looks (or lack thereof) anyway.

Stupid caffeine addiction. Sam grumbled to himself as he began searching the storefronts for Expressoself! Coffee and Pastry Shoppe. He almost walked past; the store was bookended by two others, and the glass storefront was barely wider than the door itself. However, the storefront was lined with stringlights that were simple yet enticing. Shaking himself out of his thoughts, Sam opened the door.