December 11th, 1976
I will not throw myself at Juan. Telling me he loved me– and knowing the importance he attaches to that word– the event has played havoc with my emotions. Because I am in love with him. Two years ago that was all that mattered to me. My own confidence that I was in love. Now I know so many more aspects to a relationship that are equally important to happiness. Love is a gently sweet thing that drifts through my days. Commitment involves whole galaxies of mental preparedness.
Or is it only real when it’s spontaneous?
Isn’t that the real surprise?
Anyway, I don’t know…