This is just a simple journal entry. No prose, no poetry, no great story. Just a vehicle for my thoughts.

I’m leaving for Pakistan on Friday. And as much as I’m looking forward to going, I’m conflicted. There’s a part of me that despises myself for my state of mind, the other part comprehends the deeply human nature of my reaction. Of course there’s a fragment of me that doesn’t want to go. There’s a new person in my life, that’s exciting. I have many thoughts about these things, obviously, so I’ll try to put them down here in the same unstructured manner as they appear in my mind.

What is love? When do you know you’re ‚in love‘, and not just yet again obsessing over someone gracious enough to give you the tiniest bit of (sexual) attention? Saying ‚I love you‘ to his face would feel weird, yet I don’t know how else to describe the feeling that overflows my heart like a fallen paint bucket drip drip dripping all through my body when I open my eyes and I see his face next to mine, just a blink away. A particularly strong kind of affection, perhaps?

When he left this morning I felt empty, as I do when I don’t know the right script to my emotions, because it will be a while until I can see him next and because I know communicating with him through that time will be difficult. Also, why don’t you come over again tonight? I won’t ask you, of course, because I don’t want to seem dependent, see, I equally don’t care. You take eight hours to respond and then you say ‚There’s no one I’ve answered faster in the past few weeks than you‘ and I think ‚So you do care, but in such a way that you might answer quick, but not want to see me more often‘. Peculiar. Which is not to say you don’t make time, because you do, last week you came over at 10.30 pm. on a Thursday.

Are you, too, scared to develop too many feelings too fast? Because I am, but for me it’s probably too late already. You take my hand, you come closer at night when I move away – I admit, I tested it tonight – yet you don’t hug me back. Are you still shy? Do you not know what to do? Do you want to keep at least a minimum of distance? Or do you simply not wish to cuddle more? You’re so unresponsive when I carass you, I’m scared to kiss you without asking permission first. In fact, we kiss only as a prelude to sex and when you say goodbye, and again I’m wondering why that is. Am I being too much? Do I want too much? And the question of all questions: Am I crossing a line or overthinking too much?

Should I give you more space or be more demanding? Perhaps I shouldn’t change anything, things seem to be going well.

I asked you what your goals were in life, you answered and didn’t ask me back. When I told you anyway, you seemed curious still. Do you not ask because you don’t care? Or because you know I’d tell you nonetheless if I wanted to? Is this how conversations normally go?

You don’t appear empathetic when I tell you stories that caused me real emotional turmoil – but I confess I have an aptitude to hide behind laughter and insincerity – but you said ‚Aww‘ and patted me when I looked up how Hertha played.

I’m certain now: it always feels as if there’s a tiny gap between you and me that we still have to climb. A perpetual disconnect. A missing link. There are so many things left unsaid and we’re both scared to jump, but why shouldn’t we be? It hasn’t been all that long. You say we move so fast, I say I have never taken so much time with anyone. I know I’m a hurricane, and you somehow seem to be the first person to keep your feet on the ground. It’s as frightening as intriguing, because what does it mean? That you’re not enticed enough, or that you know what you want, who you are?

I got David to love me because I wanted to break him. When he finally said it, I remember thinking ‚Huh. I won. What now?‘ and I got caught up in affairs I didn’t ever want to wound up in, and I knew from the start. I want ‚us‘, whatever that means at the moment, to be different. Can we be different?