Hjärtesorg: sorrow of the heart. Nothing would seemingly be more fit to describe my current condition. I feel like a broken piece of rag, just hanging loosely by the thread. I feel meek. Feverish, even.

 

Sitting at the restaurant by the sea, candle lights and pretty cushions was pure torture. I ended up sitting in front of him, as if it wasn't cruel enough already. I didn't know where to rest my eyes. They strayed like a bouy at sea - unfocused and flickering.

 

I had been so stupid. When he asked me out, I was pathetic enough to believe it was a date. Even when I knew it was too good to be true, I still believed. Idiot. And here I was now, just one of the guys. 

 

Thank God for alcohol.

 

He looked suprisingly the same. Sure, it has merely been a few months, but.. I guess it felt longer than that. I noticed he had grown more silver strands on the sides. He smiled a lot. At me. Probably out of empathy. It felt strange. He never saw me before. He never noticed me. He said my name too. He never did that either. 

 

San told me I had done a good job. I had been strong. He said I looked good in my outfit. That it was not too much, yet pretty. I had nailed it. Yeah. At least I looked good.