But then he mentions her ever so often, and I feel a twinge of pain everytime I hear her name. I have to remind myself that it doesn't mean anything anymore, as he assured me earlier on.

But it's the ease at which her name rolls of her tongue that hurts ever so slightly as he speaks candidly of their better times together, and I just smile, and nod, and try to contribute because I have no cause for jealousy. I don't, do I?

It all came out yesterday in an alcohol-induced stream-of-consciousness, I couldn't have looked a pretty sight. Tears rolling down my face, hysterically telling him how much it's going to hurt if he leaves, of the enveloping and paralysing fear that takes over occasionally.

I fear that I am as clingy as I didn't want to be become, because it's one thing to love someone because of who she is, and one thing to attempt to numbly reciprocate only because she needs you more than you need her. Sometimes the clinginess manifests in other ways; like the anxious-ambivalent child I studied about in the chapter about Developmental Psychology, I want to push him away when I am with him, I don't want to want him as much as I do.

I must be giving the impression that things aren't going well, quite the contrary, everything is good. We have fun when we're out together. We communicate well, we enjoy discussing issues though our interests vary slightly.

It's just me.