Siete horas, te voy a volver a ver

 En siete horas estarás aquí. Como la canción de Bebe. Siete horas corriendo por la ciudad. Siete horas y muchas más pensando en qué te voy a decir, en qué va a pasar, en los besos que te quiero dar. Siete horas para disfrutar de la soledad antes de que inundes mi universo de nuevo; esta vez, definitivamente, sin billete de vuelta. Y me molesta un poco, ¿sabes?, haber tenido que andar detrás de ti durante todos estos meses y, sobre todo, estas últimas semanas. Me doy coraje, tenía superadas estas cosas, había dejado de pensar con los ovarios y creía que mis estándares estaban bastante más altos. A la altura de alguien que me preparara el desayuno de vez en cuando, que sintiera el peso de la responsabilidad afectiva, que no dudara al decirme que me quiere. Pero estás tú después de más de treinta horas de viaje cruzándote Europa por mí (aunque no te lo haya pedido) y no soy capaz de ver que igual es suficiente. Quizás porque siempre fui una persona que se regocija en los pequeños detalles, en el día a día, en el "te he comprado un paquete de galletas porque me acordé de ti". Las grandilocuencias, la atención, los grandes estallidos de amor nunca fueron santo de mi devoción. Y tú nunca has sido capaz de verlo. Y yo directamente no sé cómo quererte.

It's true and I was angry (in that order)

 Me duele la barriga desde que te fuiste. Somatizo con el estómago, siempre lo he hecho. Hoy tenía la sensación de que me había bajado la regla de nuevo por culpa de los retortijones. No sé qué hacer, de verdad que no lo sé. ¿Estábamos de verdad haciendo algo bien simplemente porque nos dolía la idea de no estar juntos? También duele estar así. Esperando. Intentando entender. Haciendo listas de mierda.

I'm here and you are not. The flat doesn't feel like mine but it definitely doesn't feel like yours. Like ours. You keep saying you will come but at this point is not a matter of believing but facts: you are not here when you should have been. And I keep telling myself that you will be extraordinary once you learn to care for other people's feelings, but I don't think I deserve to be the test field for so many months. I keep telling myself you have improved but actually I don't see how beyond the fact that you love me and that's not an improvement. You always say that you don't want to hurt me, but you never said that you want to make me happy. You care for me but you don't know how. And I pretend you don't feel anything so I can put all the blame on you just because I have more experience and I know how to see the red flags, and I know that's not right either. I feel small and I feel big. I feel bad because I constantly think I am making the universe turn around me and it shouldn't, but at the same time I am so insignificant. I could stay in this tiny studio for the rest of the year and no one would notice. I still don't understand why you are doing this. I have never seen a love like this. So small and yet so capable of destroying everything. You say you ended up loving me like it's not weird that you wanted to come to my home without feeling almost anything for me, not to mention the stupid fact of me saying yes. Yes, please, come to my house, let me introduce my family, this is Juhan, we are not a thing but he's staying in the guest room and he doesn't have a return ticket. But he doesn't want to be with me. I am just so blind I would do whatever he wants me to do at this point. But now he wants, though he's never coming with me to Leeds, that would be insane. Nothing changes, maybe we hold hands a bit more, out of my insecurity I have to ask him if we are something real because I can't believe what is happening. Who would? But I felt so happy, so touched by god's hand because somehow you wanted to create something beautiful with me. But it wasn't that, was it? You were just afraid of losing me. It was so comfortable to have the attention and the food and the sex and well, I am not the prettiest girl in the world but I am not so bad either. I suppose you decided you could settle for that.

Meh

 He had the most beautiful eyes I had ever seen. Depending on the light they could turn grey, green or blue, but blue (the original) was always my favourite. He had a very ugly nose that bothered me a lot when we kissed, but I usually didn't care. He had a smile that could calm me down just by watching it, the warmest smile and funniest laugh in the world. And he cried. Quite a lot. The first time I saw him crying we were in my house, upstairs laying on the futón. I don't even remember why he was crying, something related with his father I think, but my natural instinct was to dry his tears and he didn't let me. He didn't let me touch him. I didn't understand. The last time I saw him crying was three years ago, the last time I actually saw him. That time the depression was clear, his necesity to talk everything out. I let him speak and I asked him if I could hug him. He said yes. I wanted to kiss him but I didn't dare to ask, I knew the answer.