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Teenage Head - Infected

I’m sorry, Toronto.

I’ve been awful to you. Judgmental and rude. I’d thought of you like I’d thought of Chicago: the second child trying to live up to the firstborn, NYC. It was so primitive of me, I know. To not view you on your own, to put you into a binary, especially one that I now think was so misguided because frankly, the luster of NYC wore dull to me a long time ago.

To be honest, I also didn’t like the Torontonians I’d met. Braggarts and hustlers. Not my style. For me, you weren’t fucking Paris. You weren’t even fucking Chicago.

And when people seemed perplexed at my antipathy towards you, it caused me to dig my heels in deeper. That was my terrible stubborn side, and I’m ashamed. You see, I was born on the cusp and part of me still veers Taurus. Please, if you’ll understand the role the stars have played in all of this.

It’s my arrogance, and my internet therapist says I have some passive-aggressive aspects I need to work through, so I know this letter is only a first step in the long road of self-improvement that lies before me.

I hope we can approach this with an open heart, that you can find that place in yourself to allow for my shortfalls, and see my true desire to grow and be a better friend to you. Please let me know what I can do for you, as well. I’m here for you, even if I’m here on bended-knee.

Thank you, Toronto. Thank you, Teenage Head.

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