Last week I told him I'd loved him. Nearly eight months after we had stopped seeing each other. I don't know why I never said it to him at the time, perhaps because I suspected he didn't feel the same, perhaps because it would raise expectations too high for me to cope with. Perhaps the words stuck behind my tonsils, scared of being released for the first time, scared what would happen when they were out and unrecallable.
He said "I knew how you felt about me," sending this from his Blackberry in a jumbled rushed mail in a snatched moment away from the wife and baby. I wondered what would make me not want to snatch a moment with him again.