I feel like another failure is here. Trailing behind me like a shadow, barely catching up with me, then letting go, like a ghost of my consciousness. She doesn’t care about me, I can feel it, and that makes it uninteresting to spend time with her. She ignored me for so long that I’m starting to feel indifferent. It’s a weird feeling — I haven’t felt like this for some while. It’s a mixture of freedom and inconvenience, when you have nobody to direct your attention to, but you know you are capable of deeply caring. It’s more of a feeling of frustration than anything else. I don’t even know what I want, but I want it, and I want it badly, mostly now, but I couldn’t even appreciate it if it was now. So probably later, much later. Maybe a couple of months, maybe half a year would allow me to breathe, settle down, and see what I want. Until then, I think I’ll have to say goodbye to everyone, let them know I need space, and just cut myself out from the world. I need the old self of mine, alone in the wilderness, wandering. Like a in a quote I saw: not all who wander are lost.

I don’t understand S at all. She’s happy when I’m around, but rarely wants to meet me, and rarely writes. Am I too fast? Am I too slow? She seemed to have answered that question once, “You need to cool down” — it still rings in my head. This reminds me of someone else, at another time, at the same place, saying something similar. I’m starting to think: K really did love me. I didn’t understand it at the time, but all the time she spent with me and all the energy she put into being with me, including when she was angry at me, was because she really cared. I now think back and wish I had known. Yes, it’s burdensome, to be loved, and it’s hard to accept. It puts us in the uncomfortable situation that we know we can hurt the other. Maybe that’s what S fears, and hopes to control by not meeting me. Maybe she just doesn’t think of me, and it simply goes over her head. What a shame. Every time I don’t see her for a week, I start to think that it was nothing special, the way we met, and then, once I see her, I know what it’s al about, it comes back in a flash of light and I’m back to thinking: I want her to feel the same way. But she doesn’t.