London Hotel Blues

This hotel is crazy, but snug and cozy. Trying to find your room is like a maze, but you soon get used to it. I’m in the basement, so the view from my window is up, and I can only see feet going by!
I am now lying in my cozy bed, listening to a very good radio station. I can also hear footsteps and cars above.
I feel very sad right now. My sadness seems sentimental; it’s hard to explain. I suppose that it’s Brian. I haven’t seen him for a month, and then one more month until he’s home!
But now the waiting doesn’t bother me so much. The thing that is killing me with worry is that I’ll come home, and there will be no letter. I have a strong feeling that this will happen, but then there is also a small ounce of hope. It means so much to me.

But I’ve decided that, if there is no letter, I shall write him again, explaining that I never received a letter, asking if he ever wrote, if he wants me to fuck off, etc. I just want to know straight out, because suspense kills me.

I love Brian. I think I know him well enough to trust all the things he said before he left, so I will.

I loved a boy who was in our high school's chess club