It has been about half an hour since I finished with Latin prep, and my heart has just resumed jumping about like it’s desperate to break free of my body. I’ve decided that love is a terribly rummy thing indeed. Far more physical than I would have imagined… Funny thing – I suppose if I’d ever thought about it at all before now, I would have presumed that I’d masturbate more. Doesn’t seem to be the case though. I’ve been in love for more than a fortnight and I haven’t really noticed a change. A change in just about everything else, but not that. Not that I’ve paid that much attention of course…
There’s a moth right above my face.
Now it’s resting on the pillow.
I wonder if George likes moths… What? What kind of question is that? I’ll scratch that off my list of possible talking matter.
Most of my thoughts seem to begin with those words though: ‘I wonder if George likes.’ I’ve wondered if George likes poached eggs, wondered if George likes riding on the train… I suppose the real question is, ‘I wonder if George likes me?’ Well, I should think he likes me - I am head-boy. People are supposed to like me, or at least respect me. Respect is a good thing in a relationship, isn’t it? People in relationships are supposed to respect one another.
Oh yes, that’s all very well, but it doesn’t mean a thing if he doesn’t bally well like you.
Sometimes I forget to think of that. I wonder if George does like me? It’s so hard to tell. He is nice to me, but George is nice to everyone. I’ve been noticing it. I know I shouldn’t watch him like that, but when he’s around… I just need to see him, and what he’s doing. He’s nice to his parents, his sister, brother, his teachers, all the other boys. When someone is just so consistently nice, it can be hard to tell who they esteem above any other person. And all this is made even worse by the fact that he’s perfect. He’s blasted perfect. His smile and his… everything. But especially his smile, because that’s what he’s about really.
I did notice something rather odd today though. There was something different to when I first met him, and when I talked to him for those few minutes on the train. We’ve only been back at school two days, so it can’t be much, but… Maybe he still misses his family during the first few weeks away? I’ve never had a problem with it myself, but it doesn’t mean that he shouldn’t. When I met him in the hall he just seemed… sadder? I’ve known him for such a short time but it still seems wrong. And I don’t know whether to interfere or to leave it. Maybe I should subtly interfere? No, it’s probably nothing anyway. What do I know about him? For all I know he could be that way for half the year. No, I mustn’t interfere.
Although, I could just talk to him…
Urgh, I can’t think about this now. I’ll think about this after I’ve finished thinking about Latin. Which will be tomorrow break. And I just hope that Thorpe doesn’t notice that I’ve been writing …George Colthurst St. Barleigh inside my exercise book.
Right, ceasing to think now.