I've loved you since I knew you.

I wouldn't talk down to you.

I have to tell you just how I feel--I won't share you with another girl.


You would think after four years, this would be incredibly easy. But a romance realized at the end of a long and lonely summer is destined to crash and gloriously burn. I am terrified of leaving him like I've left everyone else. It's rare for me to encounter someone who

leaves me in a cold sweat

makes my heart race

and

most difficult of all

leaves me speechless.


How am I suppose to be mysterious and alluring when I can't even think straight? My "game" is the victim of his pheromones, really. Everything I say to him has the same mental echo: "That was stupid. God, that was stupid. He thinks I'm so stupid." He's the kind of boy who likes a challenge, who needs mystery. But it'd be so much EASIER if I could just lay it all out on the table. We have three weeks until I leave and I don't know what's going to happen.

I imagine the numerous ways that he would balk were I to suggest that we pursue an intimate relationship. But GOD DAMNIT. (!!!)

It's kind of sad, really, how people have a way of suppressing what should be the best in them so their desired will like them more. "Oh, guys don't really like it when you're smarter than they are." Or better at something, or... I don't say the things I would, the really deep things, or the things that might be challenging or maybe slightly offensive, even if it's what I really feel, because I so damn badly want him to like me. I don't even know anymore. This should be easy, but it's not.

The Solicitor is back in my life.

And I swore that I would stick to Amy Winehouse's maxim:

Maybe I'll just be my own best friend;
not fuck myself in the head with stupid men.

Well the tiniest little dot caught my eye and it turned out to be a scab.

The Editor broke up with me over the internet.

My response, unfortunately relegated to his voicemail:
"There are no words for that."

Enough said?