I saw Him today when He came by to return my stuff.

U know how it is, when u break up with someone and u play in ur head all the things u wanna say to them when u finally do see them?

And when the time comes, u just become all tongue tied, and the whole speech u'd planned just flies out of your head.

That's how it was with me. I must have looked like such a moronic fuckwit, yammering on mindlessly about how drunk I'd been the past few weeks since I'd been back (Omg, can u say verbal diarrhoea?!), whilst He stood there looking all cool, and cute with his new hairstyle, and gorgeous as usual, and (Horror of horrors!) kissable.

I thought I'd got over Him. That the past few weeks I'd been healing, and really well too. But the wounds are reopened. It took all of my energy today not to kiss Him as I usually did in the past when I greeted Him. He looks good. I hate Him for that. I look like crap. It's not fair. It really isn't.

I don't suppose I'll see him again ever. It's true, you know, that your first love screws u up. There, I said it. He was my first love. It wasn't long enough for us to call it love, I suppose, but yes, I'd fallen in love with Him. U just never get over that first love.