Horizons.

Day 31

I won't go into what we did today in great detail because, apart from games of snooker on the television, it couldn't be duller subject to describe.

Yes, Christina and her mum arrived yesterday and it is indescribably amazing to see my oldest friend after two years of emails and phone calls. But today it rained and the sky was a sheet of grey. We went to the Russel-Cotes museum, the only museum in Bournemouth, which is highly underestimated, and did a bit of shopping. The museum was vaguely exciting, not for the content but for the vigorous exchanging of stories between Christina and me, while we circled the same rooms and barely looked at anything. Lunch at Wagamamas, I suspect that Christina didn't like it much because she isn't a big fan of spicy food, but none the less, alright. Shopping was hot and tiring and monotomous. Christina and her mum had lost their suitcase and basically, are in dire need of clothes. By the time we finished I had a banging headache.

Rehearsals, dancing the lambert walk and all the other numbers on stone cold floors for three hours.

I am excited. Excited about tomorrow. I am sneaking out of staying with my guest, what a bad friend I must be. But I had pre-existing plans and these plans are a little exhilirating. They are what has kept me from going a little insane the last few days of silence. They are what I know will happen, what I have simply imagined will happen and something a little crazy that we've planned. He suggested it himself. Only yesterday I was stood on my balcony, wishing I lived in the 18th century, where gentlemen courted after fragile, pathetic little females and nothing mattered to women but playing the piano, tying bonnets, drying lavender and smoothing out dresses while they perched on little chairs. Ah bliss, ignorance and flowers mix well. And I thought how brilliant it would be, if just one person, some man, one day, could be spontaneous for once and want to dress up and do something stupid with me for no reason at all. Apparently, he does. We are doing it. Spontaneity was never deficient when we were Us. And all of a sudden its back like a breath of fresh air, in my hair, my eyes. No reason needed, just why the hell not, and he called asking me "This may sound strange but..." No but, yes.

Its crazy how one little idea can blossom in your head and grow an inch of hope. "Life is a hope" Oh, Oscar Wilde.

Still, I am not letting myself get carried away. It could be all different. Knowing my tear ducts, they could decide to be a little spontaneous themselves, and I could be bawling in my dress within seconds of laying eyes on him, of feeling his arms around my waist. Equally, I can't help thinking, why is he doing this? This, is the perfect example of what we were. Are we returning? Hope, picking at my hangnails. Or is he playing games, keeping me where I am, a doll swinging on a string, but really using our minutes as dress rehearsals for her, plans for her, minutes for her, years. Dread, chewing on my lip.

Je ne sais pas. Oh well, time will tell. Hideous, snarling time.
Anticipation won't let me sleep. But I have to, early start and all.
I love you, more and more and more.
Goodnight.