One hour ago coming back from another evening in the city: a theatre performance.
Was well done, but does not matter.
What I want to write is:
the era of the influence from the holiday trip over New Year is over.
Always when I think about it, a bitter feeling comes up.
I love her despite of that.
Even though she has not yet written a response letter.
I am still expecting it.
She has now a different hair do, obviously wants to forget everything.
Maybe I write now for the last time: Bee, I love you.
And slowly I will also retreat from C, into the desolate solitude.
Because I can try as hard as I can: but I do not love her.