Current location:	Vista Del Sol, Room 6147.
Current mood:	curious
Current music:	Every Little Thing - Dishwalla

I didn't kiss you because I'm misguided enough to think I'll ever see you again. I did it because I thought it would be poetic. To kiss you, to whisper 'I hate you,' to climb out of the car, close the door, and never see you again.

Last night (two nights ago, I suppose) Liz was running a fever. Matt wasn't answering his phone, so I went to visit. We drank tea and watched Waitress and talked for hours about our issues. When our craving became too much to bear, we left for Denny's and pancakes, fries, hot chocolates and vanilla milkshakes.

As we walked across the overpass, silhouettes against the headlights of the cars underneath, I talked about how difficult it is to give up on the life I'd created with him. She didn't tell me to get over it or to move on, and when I asked her how I can live forever without knowing that he might ever come back, she said "you've just got to believe he will."

And I smiled. Because I do.

I woke up and walked the few miles to his apartment: he met me boxer-groggy at the door, took me by the hand and led me upstairs through the dark where we fell back into bed. We lie in, our skin sticking to one another, massaging sore muscles, kissing without tongue, touching toes, switching positions, breathing slow and then fast. And as I slide my fingertips over his shoulder blades and feel our stomachs press together, it hits me that this is not just a stranger, but another human being who makes soft moans and whimpers, little twitches in his sleep, composed of atoms and matter just like me. When we are up and dressed hours later, he is so beautiful but somehow, all of a sudden, so distant.

I don't realize until later, after he takes me to breakfast, after stilted, tortuous conversation, after the waitress winks at me, after he doesn't offer to pay, after my head is spinning from confusion on the short car ride home, after nonsense about white suits, bill rolls and yachts, after I am stretched out on a chaise beside the pool in the hot, hot Arizona sun. It is only after all this that I realize he never intended to call me.

I will never see him again. And that's fine. Because I would never have loved him.

In the afternoon, eating chocolate malted Easter eggs and watching Friends, I tell Brittany that I will love her forever.

"Right back 'atcha," she says.

Right back at me.