I don't know why, I got these feelings, yeah...

Oooh. And suddenly, everything changes. I'm not as in love with R as I was, it's settled, and I need to move away, I need to be independent. I want my own space. I want a minimalist place with Danish colours and my book collection on shelves, a cigarette tray, things I've chosen. I also want a job, a good one. I imagine my perfect life relentlessly. That's not what this is about. I've fallen so easily for a woman I've known ten minutes. HC. She lives in another country. She's a friend of a friend, and she knows about maths. She elucidates in short, simple terms and looks shy, but is fierce. She is kind. She hasn't responded to my facebook request.

She's probably not interested in girls. She probably wouldn't come here. I'm probably simply so desperate for someone that I'm ready to fall for the first person that seems reasonable.

It's just that she's so easy. We went out for the day (and the night) with a group of friends. I went to pick someone up from a station with her, and we danced together at night, and I want her to be here now. I want her to be in this little room, telling me intelligent, true things. I want to tell her true things. Not necessarily intelligent ones, because we are inverse; she's so clever, she doesn't need words with more than three syllables. I adore words with more than three syllables, perhaps to put a superficial shell over the vacuity that is my intelligence.

 I'd tell her that I think she's beautiful. I'd tell her that I want her so badly, and I almost never want people badly straight away like that. I'd tell her that even her middle name's not so bad. I'd tell her that I can think of nothing lovelier than the way she dances and includes people, I would tell her that I was sorry I couldn't stop staring and she caught me twice, but I just thought, 'how can it be that I've fallen this fast?'. I wasn't expecting it. It caught me offguard.

And now. You live far away. You've got a career. Even if you were magically interested in women, and then, even more magically, interested in a woman like me, overly garrulous, with no real handle on the world. No real career, no real anything, and there you are, ready to jet off on a tangent but with your feet on the ground. So there, so present. A present. For me. An unexpected union, because at least we did do things together. I'd have kissed you if you'd seemed as if you wanted me to. It would never have happened.

I'd have... I wished for an act of prestidigitation. Somehow.

 There's never a somehow with me, because I never get what I want. I never want what I get. Those two are very different, but very similar. Yet, still, you explained that 'i' was an illogical number, like pi. You answered. You were so kind to everyone, and not as K is, demanding something in return. Just kind. You danced like I did, you were angry that Liverpool accents weren't taken seriously, you straightened your hair and wore leg warmers. You looked perfect, to me. You're so beautiful, I realised, around two hours in. Your face with its upturned lip over your front teeth, your dark shiny hair, your cheekbones and your blue eyes with hooded lids that look, sage and perceptive, at the world. The way that you laugh. Yes, you are lovely, and you've probably got many others telling you so, so I shouldn't bother.

I have people telling me I'm lovely, even beautiful, but it's nobody that I want to inform me of this fact. Men that want to take me for coffee, for a drink, for an 'intimate soiree', for something. I'm sure that they want something long term that I can't give because I adore people like you. Honest, steadfast people that make me really laugh. I light up for the world, people tell me, but nobody really lights me up. It's rare. It's palindromic, an oxymoron, something. People fall for me, they say, because of my face, my ways, my 'lightness of being'. French women are light of body and heavy of mind, and I'm the exact opposite. Lightness of character, because I weigh over 80 kilos. In any case, I'd give up all of those times, those times that someone has told me I'm beautiful to get something from me that I didn't want to give, a smile, a hand, or something else, to hear it from you. I'd exchange them for insults. I'd...

 That's the thing, though. Attracting someone like you isn't as easy as attracting all of them, which I do inadvertently. I don't mean to. I want to be friends, and then, suddenly, they want more. Now it's me that wants more. It's me that's heavy, that weighs on you, that would force... I don't want to force. I couldn't ever get anyone like you. Someone so beautiful and honest, so funny and kind and clever and steadfast, must want someone steadfast and kind and intelligent. Someone like you doesn't want a silly, overgrown girl, who's vague and silly, who masks a lack of knowledge with an egregious vocabulary and her sheer verbosity, who doesn't earn. Someone like you deserves someone better.

 That doesn't stop me from fantasising about holding your hand or caressing your face. Oh darling.