I miss him. The missing him hits me out of nowhere and leaves me with an overwhelming ache in my chest and my stomach churns. I'm writing in the passive because I'm passive in avoiding it. A part of me relishes the physical reaction, the part of me that isn't ready to move on yet. Usually it happens when I suddenly remember that he probably will never be able to love me the way I deserve. I'm tired of scrutinizing it and talking about it over and over. A was so great about listening to me over fries and chicken finger parm for me and a veggie burger for her. I'm so lucky to have her. I'm so tired. This app is cool though. I wish I could tell him about it. He would love the global sharing feature, and the confession aspect of it. Foucault would be critical of my desire to make this public. But what is the harm if it makes me feel better? At least I haven't broken my stance on contacting him. I caved and had A send a cute snap of me to him at dinner. He opened it within five minutes. He doesn't love me he doesn't love me he doesn't love me.