Wow.

It really hit me last night. Hard.

I haven't cried like that in a while.

I'm sure the book I was reading didn't help, because it gave me a whole other perspective to view this from, and a whole other kind of future to envision. (Dear John by Nicholas Sparks, by the way.)

I can't wait for his first letter. I can't wait to see him in five months.

I really hope . . . I don't know. I hope time flies, I hope he doesn't forget me, I hope he doesn't change too much.

He knows me better than anyone else. He knows more about me than anyone, he knows things I haven't told another soul.

It hurts to know he's somewhere else, and I can't make sure he's okay.

Right now, all I can do is write. Write until I see him again.

Write - until it all goes away.

Because, maybe I love him. Or maybe, maybe I'm fooling myself. Maybe I just need something to cling to, or a reason to push other guys away.

But, when he was on his way to the airport, he texted me "I really was contemplating on whether or not to kiss you on monday" among many other things I don't feel like divulging.

Who can I talk to about this, though? Who would understand what I'm not even sure I do?

I know he's one of my best friends. But . . . is he more?

I can picture being at the airport when he gets back. I can picture what we might do when he gets here in December. I can picture all the letters. And yet, I'm absolutely ready to be disappointed. It always happens that way.

Anyway. I need to stop wallowing. My life is not over, and I will survive.

Ta for now.

***On a side note, updating you here in 2013 long after this post was originally written: The guy I am talking about in this post, we did start dating, and now, he is my husband. We'll be celebrating our third year anniversary in October. Thought you'd like to know. :) ***