Had this thought listening to Manu Chao’s Clandestino. Maybe this is the point: that I can still think of her. That I can be happy, thinking of her.

In a hotel and anxiety just came, out of nowhere, it’s just here. The classic, heartbeat high up, a bit of shaking, feeling of emptiness. Really sucks. I need to find a way to deal with this thing or it’ll not end well.

So much fucking anxiety. No idea why, where from, what for. But, anxiety. Is it work? So many new things happening. And I am supposed to be so much better. It’s really taking a toll on me.

To care. To actually, care. She is good at sharing, and is accepting of me being away. She talks to me when I wake up and tells me goodbye when I go. I feel like I’ve been on auto mode, but I think maybe I can change. It’s actually good to share things with her. It’s good to hear her being happy — and it’s good to hear when she shares with me her anxieties.

It was something small and inconsequential. Something about skipping a day at the conference, but it broke. I’m so idiotic, I need to stop.

No idea. You seem fragile, smart. Why are you interested in anything I write? Also, you have beautiful legs but I can’t tell you that. Or maybe I could. Nevermind. I like writing you. The long conversations we have remind me of a better time. A long time ago. When I cared. Now I want to cry. One day, we’ll meet. I don’t know what will happen then. Maybe I’ll miss you in the meanwhile. Maybe I’ll give up. I’m also fragile, you know.

Went back to your first apartment’s building. I even got inside the building, accidentally. It was weird, to know that once, you and I were both there, making love, waking up, making breakfast. How I long to be there again. I’d be so different, I’d cherish every moment. I’d miss you when you are not with me, but could be, and I’d send you messages to let you know how much I miss you. I’d meet you more and for longer. I’d let you know how much you make me happy. I’d cry in your arms and I’d be so happy. I miss those days. They are gone, forever, gone, never to be had again.

I was wrong. I didn’t want to be the crazy one that thinks there is no one like you. That there is nobody out there who could be as good as you. But maybe I was wrong. Maybe there really isn’t one like you. It’s strange this feeling. That I was so wrong.

You were back, somehow you forgave me. We talked. It was so good. I miss you, A.

So emotionally drained. Is it the report I’m preparing? The work I’m doing? My girlfriend’s issues? I am so incredibly drained. I can barely work on my research. It’s crazy. I’m going mad.