The middle of January

"Indeed! We have run out of material!"

It's a random - well, not really - message that I sent Gwen last night. I'm not bent on talking about why it isn't that random. Let's just say that it is, well, random.

Let's just also say that we had a pretty good conversation last night. It lasted for two hours, maybe three, although it only involved the two of us entering words into mobile phones. A pretty good conversation, since we talked about a bunch of things - and I didn't feel a bit conscious about it, which was odd. It just went one way and we went with it, even if it meant my mom catching me smiling after reading a text message.

Maybe I didn't smile. A smirk, maybe? An evil, relishing-your-despair type of smirk?

The conversation went on. Again, we just went with it.

"She was nicer to me," I said. "I was no threat."

"And you must admit, you do have a crush on her?"

"Have I not told you that? I did. A short one until we talked, long before which I had another flavor of the week."

"Oh, flavors."

We're two hours in - or maybe one, I'm not sure - and that's when I feel a bit conscious. There's always a point in the conversation when it just stops without warning. You run out of things to say, and you even forget that you have to say goodbye - but lately you don't really have to say goodbye unless you're talking in person. It also happens that I feel conscious of what the guy I'll hide under the pseudonym "Tim" told me a few years back. Not that it has to do with anything.

"Whaaaat. You know what I mean. Men go from Olivia Munn to some school cutie."

"Yeah, I do. I have more guy friends than girls. And I'm giving up on that."

"It'd be awkward to see you spend time with girls, though. Extended periods of time."

By this time I'm already in bed, rereading a couple of old magazines. I've finished an article on Today when I realize that Gwen won't be replying to that message. The conversation has stopped.

I somehow hate that feeling. The best part of a conversation is towards the end, yes, but it's because it ends just when you start enjoying it. You get the groove, and then it's over. You're left waiting for something that you committed yourself to. And nobody has the courtesy to say goodbye. Not that I'm blaming Gwen. She always did that, except for the night we actually talked in person, and only because we didn't have a choice but to say goodbye. I mean, I can't walk out of the coffee shop while making fun of her inability to browse Twitter through her since-replaced mobile, right?

I've long tried to arrange another coffee date with her, but she's been busy. This time, she said, she won't be as busy, since she only has a few classes, three days a week, and thesis to deal with. But it's better, she said, if we met up early this month. Just I give her a date and she'll make a way.

I've been in a state of flux so far. Time has stopped, or gone really slow. It's the middle of January and I haven't given her a date.

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