Oh

The Italian called last night. Apologising, thinking I'd been scared off by something he told me about his past, when it didn't bother me. Reiterated what I texted him, and he reiterated that I've boulverseed him. Excuse the franglais. He was hoping we'd still have dinner, told him that wouldn't be right, but he wants to see me before he leaves on Saturday.

Obsession. It's funny being on the other side. The men I was obsessed with, maybe two, the pain is so strong but it's kind of beautiful. The heartache and tears are kind of nourishing. And the memory stays with you forever. The memory of the heart soaring, and also of the last time you see them.

Which is why I plan on looking fabulous if I do meet him for a coffee...