Yesterday I decided. I have to tell Remus how much I love him. I don't think he knows. Oh, I know my reputation – not keeping boys for much longer than a week, often less than that. I really need him to know that he's not one of them. Obviously, there's something special if there have been four "third dates," which were simply dates and nothing more. Home at eleven-thirty, at the latest.
Now I wonder – have I ever been in love before? Oh, you'd think I'd have; all those crushes and flirts and flings and fancies and brief sparks of passion.
But that's all they were. Crushes and flirts and flings and fancies and brief sparks of passion. Yes, they went "farther" in a sense than this relationship, but not – in another sense – deeper.
I do have to tell him.
Where is he now? He was absent yesterday and today.
But it's fine. I'll find him.