It's depressing. I had gone the whole week, self-sufficient. I couldn't have cared less about anything. I was oblivious to him. I liked being able to pretend. It just takes a moment, though. A moment for all the feelings I'd been feeling, to come back. And that moment was when he walked in the door. Last night in bed was a huge example of why I have no self-control. It messes me up. Makes me think differently. Makes me disillusioned. I don't want to complain because what it comes down to is - it was brilliant. And that's all that's supposed to count, right? That's what I'm going to believe, anyway. I'ma go get myself a coffee.