A snippette of a letter I sent to someone a long time ago: “I thought that this was gonna be easy! Huh, nothing ever is. Perhaps I shouldn’t even be writing this, it will probably contain things that you don’t want to hear anyway. However, I feel I have to, to try to either get on with my life or try to make you part of it. I miss you, hell I miss you a lot. Sometimes sitting there, wanting to pick up the phone and dial, but you won’t be there. You never are. Emotion is one of the many things that we’ve never talked about. I don’t have an inkling of the way you feel about me, I just know that I’m in love with you. There, I’ve said it know, not ‘I love you’, but ’I’m in love with you’ - or at least written it” I sat on a beach writing that letter, so many years ago now it seems. It made me cry then and now it’s made me cry all over again. I know that despite how unhappy I was with my pseudo-relationship I would welcome him back with open arms if he even glanced in my direction again. Low self-expectation indeed.