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I’m not usually one for deep and meaningful song lyrics, but that snippet’s been going round my head all day. It’s a musically interesting little line; quirky enough to lodge right in my brain and stick itself on repeat.

Wouldn’t it be lovely to have someone who wanted to kiss and to be kissed like that. Like you’re the only people in existence.

It’s the difference between a half-hearted snog before a casual fumble, and the expression of all of your love for that person without words.

A glass of Diet Coke versus a flute of the best, coldest, finest champagne that dances on your tongue.

OG was playing squash this evening, with a girl. He told me about the squash, after he’d asked me what I was up to this weekend (FF is coming over and I’m looking forward to it). The word ‘she’ was used, along with the phrase ‘my balls are too fast. As it were.’

In my precarious state of mind I have of course assumed that this is his latest love. That the chips and the messing around and the twinkling at me yesterday was just, as ever, friends.

Housemate S was more pragmatic. “It’s definitely not a date thing to do. You get all sweaty! And smelly.”

Good point.

I don’t help myself when I get mushy about him just because he’s stellar company for an hour. I’m only jealous because I like playing squash, and I told him I liked playing squash, and he won’t ask me, and I would like to play him because he will be suitably competitive.

And too much listening to Elbow is bound to make me all uselessly introspective and gaze across the office and sigh quietly to myself, because I want to kiss him like we invented it.

If only he fancied me. That is all, really.