Earlier this year I fell in love with a man. The man’s name is a. I’ve mentioned him, albeit briefly, in previous posts.
I was not meant to fall in love with him.
I was meant to feel casually toward him.
I fell in love by mistake.
We spent a rather wonderful four months together and then one Sunday morning, it was suddenly over and I was crying, in Balham, in the rain.
During the riots I contacted him because I missed him and I was worried about him and I was frightened and wanted a cuddle. I told him that if the world was ending that he was the one person I wanted to see.
In hindsight this was a slight exaggeration.
There are several people I would want to see in that scenario but I digress.
This week I discovered he was on twitter and stated as much in my feed without mentioning his username.
Two days later I received an email from him wishing me a happy birthday. I was elated for six hours until I realised it is unlikely he will respond further.
It’s confounding/unsettling/saddening to think that he keeps reading what I write but doesn’t want to see me.
Or more importantly, follow me.