After dinner, he wanted me to keep him company while he worked on his essay. Walking from mine to his, I wore the coat I'd worn all through the cold months of second year and, because of old habits, he says, he reached for my hand to hold in his, in his pocket. I called him silly.

I wish his girlfriend would announce whether she will visit him this summer.

why are there no concessions for emotional problems?
I can't help being in love with my best friend. I love him more now than the second year of us dating. Then, it felt that we were together out of habit, though he's said that he was in love with me then, in a craze of desire.

Now.. here's an extract of the email I sent him earlier this evening:

"You're more like a boyfriend to me now than when we were dating in second year.. we talk and have engaging conversations now, I'm not near as awkward or shy around you, and we can really goof around, share things and enjoy things together.
...

But I don't understand how you can love her when you put hardly any effort into sharing things with her, while we hang out, talk and laugh together every day. Does she know about your career/post-graduation-related worries, that you'd considered taking the law conversion course, followed it up and decided against it, that you almost had an interview for being a life model, how you desperately need money for food, how you enjoy Alain de Botton's talks, or how you see me as your best friend? Have you sent her a message on a whim the way you were sure I'd enjoy your story of seeing sheep charging in a field and so felt compelled, somewhat, to tell me?

I understand that you don't love me and I'm trying to come to terms with it.. haha, or perhaps I'm trying to persuade you to or "make you realise" that you love me. But I wish I don't love you as I do, yet, as your friend, I want to make sure that you understand why you love her."

[A note to my statement 'you put hardly any effort into sharing things with her': they communicate, at most, every 2 weeks. She'll send him text messages and he'll reply, every two weeks. No emails, perhaps a Skype date every 3 weeks, but not both text messages and Skype dates in a single month, no.]

Despite feeling almost desperate to go grocery shopping, I managed to make a carrot cake for a dinner party. It was a big hit too! Hurrah.

I went through his phone and read the messages between him and her recently, of course, she initiated the brief conversation. She sounds adorable, living in her world of fantasy. She spoke of wanting to cycle to the moon..
There was a wondrous night a few weeks back when the sky here was clear and the moon so bright I didn't need to walk the path from the road to my house or search for the keys in my bag by the light of my phone. I had wanted to go on a stroll with him that night but he was elsewhere. A stroll with anyone that night would have been delightful! By the light of the moon, I wanted to go on an adventurous bike ride. I don't want to cycle to the moon, there's nothing there and nothing along the way but the view of the world from up high and whatever stories you imagine. For me, the world is already exciting. I wanted to cycle to the beach and be frightened by crashing waves and whatever monsters were spying inland. But that would be at the end of the journey, before I surrender to sleep. Along the way I hoped to pass houses with curtains not yet drawn and glimpse into so many spectacular lives, ride through tree-lined roads and past bus stops and stations, stopping to talk to people along the way. I wanted to experience the enchantment of the mundane yet unfamiliar. Why run away from everyone before getting to know them all?

I have only two utterly reliable friends (and I do rely/depend in them): Stephen and Miriam.  They are also the only two people I can be absolutely honest with and am absolutely comfortable with. Interestingly, although I am on various "social networking" platforms to make keeping in touch with many people that I know from multiple places, I cannot use any of them to contact these two friends.