I put my headphones on, retreating into my own little world amidst hundreds of people. Departure times flash. Lips move, but all I hear is my blaring music. Couples kiss, old ladies pass in wheelchairs, a beautiful Indian woman is braiding her daughter's hair. Remnants of Ikon, Duke Special, drinking with Irishmen and his smell mingle in my mind. I come to, and realize the seat next to me is truly empty. I curse God.

After writing what I did, I felt this desperate urgency to tell him that I love him. I rushed, dressed and dashed to Victoria station. I saw his train pull away. I was too late; I missed my chance.

Last night I commented that he looked sad. He said he was only sad that we didn't have anything to talk about. That's so far from the truth. I have so much to say. My heart and mind are full and racing. I've always lacked the verbal way to express everything.

This love has been beautiful and tragic. But I regret nothing, hope for everything and am thankful that at the very least, I have experienced love to its fullest. At least I've known what it's like to truly love.

I haven't experienced abscence like this in months. I'm surrounded by throngs of people in this airport, but I feel so alone that my heart aches. I feel the loss of his presence so incredibly distinctly.

It's odd, this love I have for him. It exists and grows regardless of whether or not it is returned. It's slow and peaceful and painful and desperately passionate all at once. He's left now for his flight home, and I'm in the hotel with memories of last night and his arms floating around in the emptiness. I'm feeling alone and tearful, but happy? I wish I'd told him I loved him.

I know you know this. But I love you.