Am I in love? —yes, since I am waiting. The other one never waits. Sometimes I want to play the part of the one who doesn't wait; I try to busy myself elsewhere, to arrive late; but I always lose at this game. Whatever I do, I find myself there, with nothing to do, punctual, even ahead of time. The lover's fatal identity is precisely this: I am the one who waits. 
and even worse, im so in love that i journal about it. because containing within myself is somehow more unbearable than facing it looking back at me from my diary. the simple recognition that i am stuck in love, yearning, longing and heartbreak. am i in love?—yes, since i am writing.